New Beginnings
by SecretRose23
Summary: Everything has changed for the Shelby family after the races. Everyone has changed. There are new threats, new romantic entanglements, and new revelations about The Peaky Blinders that have yet to unfold. This is a collection of interconnected stories that occur after the events of the season 2 finale. Enjoy! (Rated T to be on the safe side).
1. The Chosen One

May rubbed the horse down, roughly, ungently, and angrily in the stables beside her property. She could not help but be angry with Grace's Secret, with Grace, with Thomas Shelby, with all of it. He had left her down in the ring with the horse, the horse that symbolized that "someone else" Thomas had vaguely mentioned to her by the trough filled with goldfish to "keep the worms away." Nothing could be done to keep the worms away now, the ugly truth that she was playing second fiddle in Thomas's life. She had met the infamous Grace; blonde, beautiful, dolled up in her finery while she stood there in her riding clothes in the mud and dirt, but May hadn't outwardly let that woman get the best of her. May knew who she was, and she knew that she was not an inferior, competition maybe, but not an inferior. Her anger came from the fact that Thomas had lied to her face about coming back to find her and that Grace had stood there, acting superior. He hadn't watched Grace's Secret come in first place. He hadn't watched her or returned as he had promised. He had disappeared after May had confessed to Grace that Thomas made her feel alive.

 _It doesn't matter now._

A man who could not keep his promises was not a man worth having. A man who could make and break promises so easily, was not the kind of man for her at all.

 _"_ _The damage isn't done."_

That was all he cared about, saving face after stringing her along. She was a respectable woman, a respected woman who owned her own property, her own horses, her own life. She was in control of her own life and once she was finished rubbing this horse down, she was going to….

"May?"

May couldn't help it that her ears perked at the sound of his voice, that her eyes looked up of their own accord. She raised her head and saw him standing there with his long black coat and cap. His eyes were trained on her, intent and determined. May straightened her back to look him directly in the eyes. She wasn't one to shy away from looking a man in the eyes, especially one who owed her an apology. She prepared herself for what she was going to say next, that despite her fluttering heart, she stood behind everything she had thought before his sudden reappearance. He broke promises. He had led her along in a game. She deserved far better, especially after she had told Grace she would help him in his business, how she had almost given her heart to him, finally acknowledged that she could see him as a part of her life. The words died on her lips as she saw Thomas bend down on one knee in the dirt and mud and reach into his pocket.

"May…."

"Stop," May cut him off, finding her voice again. He paused, waiting for her to continue and May realized she didn't know exactly what to say. He looked at her with his unreadable gaze. Even though that gaze was unreadable, she knew Thomas was a proud man, a man who didn't want to show the world that he could be vulnerable.

"I know about Grace," she said, surprised by how gentle her voice sounded. She cleared her throat, trying to inject some anger into her next sentence.

"You said right after the races that you would come for me." There, that sounded accusatory and angry enough.

" I should have told you about Grace."

"You named your horse after her. You named her Grace's Secret." The name tasted like poison on her tongue. She loves you and you love her."

"I loved her once," he said, looking at her. "I won't lie and say I didn't or that a part of me won't still love her." Another pause. "But she isn't the one that I am choosing now."

May laughed bitterly. "I am your second choice then. You can't have her, so you choose me."

"I told you I would find you, that I would come back for you. I never said those words to her at the races and I never will. I chose you that night, not her, and and I will continue to choose you." His voice was low, but firm, and he never took his eyes off of her.

"You told me we had to put an end to our relationship because there was someone else," she pointed out. She could not overlook that glaring piece of information. She would have continued to make her point, but the words died on her lips as Thomas bent down on one knee in the dirt and mud in front of her and reached into his pocket.

"Will you have me, May?" She thought she heard his voice quaver. His face softened and the veil lifted from his eyes. Thomas Shelby wasn't a master wordsmith, but his eyes said everything he hadn't spoken. He loved her. He was sorry. He wanted to try with her. There were no reservations in his face or a shadow of a doubt that what he was doing was right for him. Deep down she wanted to try with him, to live a life with him. She wanted to choose him, but marriage, at this moment?"

 _All we have are moments._

Life was nothing but a series of moments. She wanted to feel alive. She wanted to seize life, live the fleeting moments she had with every fibre of her being. She wanted to do that with Tommy. This was their moment. What was perfect timing, but an excuse to let life pass her by, when all she really wanted was to experience the thrill of it, like she did down in the ring with the horses?

"Yes," she said, firmly, decisively. She saw the flash of a diamond and gold before he slid the ring on her finger. A thrill ran through her as the gold band slid on her finger, the metal cool against her skin.

 _Chosen. I've been chosen._

She met his eyes as he looked up at her and she laughed happily, the first time she had truly laughed since her husband died. His face lit up then, reflecting her own and his happiness. He rose to his feet and moved closer to her so that their foreheads were touching and their bodies were mere inches away from each other.

"Mr. Shelby, you've made the best choice of your life," she said, beaming at him.

"And I'll never forget it, Mrs. Shelby."

 _Mrs. Shelby. Mrs. Thomas Shelby._ May's smile deepened and she kissed him, slowly, gently before breaking away to finish with the horse.

They walked out of the stables hand in hand and walked across the grounds all the way to the edge of the drive. Thomas kissed her hand before he slowly let it go and explained that he needed to leave. He would return tomorrow with a notary and they would be married. No frills, no ostentatious wedding, just the two of them, choosing to be with each other.


	2. Polly's Fury

Something was different about him. Polly was struck by a change in her nephew. She found him sitting at his desk in his office, swirling a glass of whisky in his hand, and looking quite…. Subdued? Morose? No, that wasn't right. However, she didn't dwell on her nephew's demeanor too long as she remembered why she was confronting her nephew in the first place. Michael was still with them and that made her furious.

"What the hell have you been telling Michael? I told you that I wanted him to get out. I told you…" "

Michael's a grown man. He made his decision."

"He's…'

Tommy stopped swirling the glass of whisky, raised it to his lips, and drank it all before setting the glass down with a resounding thud directly on the wood.

"He's family," Tommy said, his voice firm, before Polly could scold him yet again for making rings in the wood.

"He's a child."

"Pol, we've already had this conversation."

"He was supposed to take the train. He was supposed to…"

"When does a Shelby ever do what they're supposed to do?" Tommy asked without a trace of a smile. Polly couldn't argue with that and it infuriated her.

Fury.

That was a powerful word, a deadly word. Pol's fury. Her rage had brought an end to despicable Campbell, that disgusting, revolting, monster of a man who had been tormenting their family for far too long. She did not regret it; killing Campbell. She had done it for her boys, for Ada, and most of all for herself. She would do it again. Now, after everything she had endured, Michael was still lounging around the house and putting himself in danger. Tommy's encouragement was too much for her to handle. She knew Tommy had given his devil's blessing for Michael to work for the family business. He should have ordered Michael to leave. Once again, Tommy was defying her, as he always did in his cool detached way. Except something was different now. She saw the difference in the hard lines of his face. It wasn't fear. It wasn't anger. It was….

"Anything else?" Tommy asked, watching her with his cool blue eyes, determined eyes, purposeful eyes.

That's it.

Thomas Shelby was determined. He was no longer vacant, but present, looking at her as if he was truly seeing her and not blindly glancing over a body in the room or shadows in a world he wasn't part of. She saw traces of the old Tommy, the one before the war, someone with a purpose in life. This purpose was different because she saw that it was within him. He wasn't being pushed to action, or provided with a purpose by some external force or rival gang. The gears were turning in her nephew's head and the devil only knew what was making them turn.

"What is wrong with you?" she snapped, for lack of a better question to ask and partly because she was uneasy. She was losing the argument. Her anger wasn't propelling Tommy to action as it normally did. Before the races, even when he had argued and disagreed with her, she could tell he would yield to her in some small way. Of course, he would never admit to appeasing her outright. Now, she saw pure defiance. He was defying her and she was losing control as he drank his damn whisky. Even that action infuriated her. She had killed a man and he was sitting calmly in his chair at the desk her money had bought, drinking the whisky her shrewd business dealings had paid for, being ungrateful to the woman who had spilled blood to keep his from being spilled, so he could sit and drink his precious whisky and play emperor of a kingdom he thought he had created with his own bare hands.

"You come back alone from the races without a word of explanation to anyone…."

"And?" Tommy interrupted.

" I want an explanation."

There was a pause. Tommy rose from his chair, pushed it underneath his desk, and strode towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to the Justice of the Peace."

Polly stared at him in disbelief.

"Why in God's name are you going to the Justice of the Peace?"

She had never heard of such a ridiculous thing, especially after what had happened at the races. Lest he forgot, they were still The Peaky Blinders. What they needed was to stay away from court rooms, lawyers, and any sort of governmental authority.

"I'm getting married."

And with that he was gone. Polly contained herself just long enough to hear the front door close on the first floor before she reached for Tommy's empty glass and hurled it at the door. She watched as the glass shattered into crystals, as it smashed against the wooden door. Rather a broken glass than shed tears. Those shards of crystal were her tears, but they were sharp, just like her. She was strong and powerful, and no matter what had or hadn't changed inside her nephew, she was still Polly Shelby; furious, independent, intelligent, and ruthless Polly Shelby. She would make sure no one ever forgot that unalterable fact.


	3. The Baker

"Ain't it lovely, Tommy Shelby's getting married," Alfie Solomons said, stroking his wild brown beard and looking across his "bakery," watching his spy out of the corner of his eye who had brought him the news of Mr. Shelby's pending nuptials.

"To a rich lady it seems," he mused, pausing to twirl his beard around his fingers. "Isn't that lovely?" he asked, raising his voice. "Tell me you think that's lovely." He smiled encouragingly at the man.

"It's lovely sir."

Alfie swore and banged his large calloused fist against his desk.

""No it's not lovely! Do you think it's lovely that the man who planted a grenade in MY BAKERY is allowed to get married?"

"No sir."

Alfie rolled his eyes upwards. Thomas Shelby, the slaughtered goat had threatened to blow his distillery sky high like the cold reptile he was, was getting married. He raised a hand and rubbed it across his beard again.

 _He's a bold one. I'll give him that._

Who would have thought the little lad would be getting married, and to a rich girl who lived in a castle. The not so slaughtered goat was doing well for himself.

"Well, nothing to be done but to congratulate him, give him a "good job mate" and to kill his girl," he rattled off. He paused, noticing the nervous expression on the spy's face as he reached for his hammer that he kept propped alongside his desk. Alfie gripped the wood in his hands, squinted, studied it a moment, at the dried blood on the hammer then looked up and grinned at the man, who had turned milk white.

"Won't be needing this today. Won't be doing any killing today, eh?. Best take a walk. Stretch me legs." He noticed the man was still standing there, unsure of what to do. Alfie made his decision for him.

"Off with you! Don't want to see yer godawful face, alright?"

Alfie thoroughly enjoyed the confusion and intimidation his words brought about in his staff. Ending sentences as questions when he wasn't actually asking a question, and all the various rambling ways of speaking never failed to entertain him and keep the lads in line. Little boys needed to tow the line in father Solomons' bakery. Tommy Shelby needed to tow the line, no running off and escaping with his pretty wife and forgetting that he'd tried to outwit Alfie Solomons. No one put Alfie Solomons in that kind of position without paying the price. Escaping punishment would be an obscenity, a sin of biblical proportions. He emerged from his bakery into the grimy, ashen Camden town air and took a big lungful of it in as he began to walk along the cobblestone streets. He loved the smoky air, the noise, the sounds of progress.

 _Progress._ Tommy Shelby was making progress. Winning the races with his horse, winning his woman, winning his support. Alfie toyed with the idea of cutting his winning streak short or encouraging it. Maybe let the lad play himself out before he made his move. Maybe play along. Yes, yes.

 _Then I'll kill him. Kill his girl. Blow up his entire Goddamn business._

Alfie nodded in agreement, paused, frowned, then shook his head. The longer he let Tommy play, the greater the risk, Tommy would wise up, raise his guard. Best get at him during the honey-moon phase.

 _But he's a smart man. A good business man. Wouldn't be practical to cut him a head short. Wouldn't be wise._

Maybe he had a soft spot for Tommy Shelby and a little bit of admiration mixed up with the competition. That could be it or the fact that Sabini was up the creek after the Epsom fiasco. He came back to himself when he noticed a little boy watching him curiously, standing stock still his chubby little face gaping as he marveled at the bearlike baker. Alfie gave him a toothy grin, which actually ended up frightening the little mite and sent him running into the arms of a good looking woman who was rushing towards him. Skinny, short brown hair, narrow face, carrying bags from the grocer.

"Karl, I told you not to run off," she said sharply, grabbing the little boy by the shoulder with her free hand and turning him to face her. The little boy craned his neck to look back at him.

"No harm done. Cute little chap," Alfie said. A wary look crossed the woman's face as she met his eyes. To offset the hostility and mistrust Alfie tipped his black hat at her, and gave her a more relaxed smile.

"You have a good day now Miss," he said.

 _Unfriendly wench._

He studied her for a while.

 _A familiar looking wench._

Something about her face struck Alfie as familiar, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

He must have been looking rather intently at her because he saw a startled expression cross her face.

"Come on Karl," she said, tugging at the boys arm and struggling to hold the bags of food. Alfie was about to brush the incident aside, and would have if while the woman was walking, the bags hadn't split from the bottom. The contents of the bag splattered all across the street, lettuce heads, cans of soup, loaves of bread. The woman swore and the boy began to cry, a terrible unhappy sight.

 _"_ Now, now there," he said, bending down to pick up the scattered food items, most of them soggy and mud stained from the dirt in the street. No need to cry little chap. I own me own bakery… How about I get you some nice loaves straight out of the oven, eh?."

"You don't have to do that," the woman said, sounding startled now and looking embarrassed as she bent down to pick up whatever she could salvage from the mess.

 _She and the little mite are on their own._ Clearly widowed.

"I'm a baker. He pivoted and pointed to his bakery, which actually sold bread on occasion. "I've got white bread, brown bread, all sorts of bread."

"How much?" the woman interjected.

 _Shrewd._

Alfie rattled off some low numbers, mostly because he was in a generous mood and the site of that crying little chap made his heart sore.

 _And the woman's not bad looking. Not bad looking at all._

They walked over to the bakery and Alfie made a show of opening the door, shouting for "two white loaves" which were promptly tossed back at him all neat and bundled. He saw the woman reaching for money in her pockets, but he stopped her, shaking his head adamantly.

"Free of charge."

 _I'm very generous today._

"You said it cost…"

"My treat."

She thanked him without another protest, let Karl eat a piece of the bread, and they were on their way. Alfie tipped his hat to them again, smiled, and reentered the shop. He hung his hat up on it's post.

 _A refreshing walk._ Nothing like a good deed to raise the spirits.

"Damn you all you lazy louts! I'm gone less than a half hour and you've decided to take a holiday! GET BACK TO WORK!


	4. Once a Shelby

Ada turned to glance quickly behind her, making sure that they weren't being followed. The baker was nowhere to be seen.

 _He's only a baker,_ part of her mind said, scolding herself for being silly, for being like Tommy. That man's unwarranted generosity would sound off warning bells in her brother's brain no doubt and he would start inspecting the bread for poison.

 _Everything makes him paranoid._

She hadn't seen Tommy since before the races, when he'd whisked James away "for the cause." She hadn't seen James since because she and Karl had moved from the house Tommy had stowed them away in. She was tired of hiding, of being indebted to Tommy. He said he was protecting her, but he was always stifling her, had always smothered her. If he had had his way, she never would have married Freddy. She wouldn't be holding her little boy's hand. Odds are, Freddy would have died a terribly violent death because of Tommy's paranoia.

These thoughts, although most likely true, made her feel guilty. She did love her brother. She had meant what she had said to him in the parlor; she loved him, the whole family loved him. She had been very worried when Tommy had handed her that letter, saying if anything happened that day, to send it. Nothing had happened, (thank God). Whatever horrible calamity he had anticipated had not come to pass, but she could not live like this anymore, waiting for something to happen and never actively participating in her own life. Neither could Karl. Freddy wouldn't have wanted this life for them. He would want her to be independent, not sitting around in a large house, being idle. She wanted to be free. She tightened her hold on Karl's hand while he munched on the bread, quiet and content. She'd taken all the valuables she could carry with her from the house that she could pawn, as well as her own money and was renting a home in Camden Town. All of this was done swiftly before Tommy or anyone else could find out and stop her.

 _Before Polly could find out._

Tommy's invasiveness was one thing, but Aunt Polly's disapproval terrified her deep down, made her feel like a child disrespecting her relative.

 _She will be hurt._

Polly was terrifying when she was hurt, because she became angry, vicious, and formidable. Some of her best work for the business was when she was having a particularly bad row with Tommy.

 _He's the only one who can get under her skin._

Arthur merely irritated her. John easily submitted during any argument, so he was no trouble to her. Even Ada, when push came to shove, knew that Polly would win. She'd experienced that first-hand when she'd tried to separate herself before. Tommy was always so difficult, stubborn. A tug on her hand brought her back to the present. She looked down at Karl who was looking up at her with Freddy's eyes and motioning for more bread.

"You have to wait until supper," she said and saw his face fall. She didn't want him to spoil his appetite with all that bread. She thought of the baker again and realized she had never gotten his name. She looked back again and noticed for the first time, a wooden sign over the door. Her eyes had always been sharp even at a distance, and she picked out the name, which was SOLOMONS' BAKED GOODS. The man must have been Mr. Solomons, the owner.

 _He didn't look like a baker._

Tall, broad shouldered, more like a carpenter or warehouse worker than a baker, with a very thick beard and an intense stare. She wasn't sure if she had had an odd expression on her face to make him look at her with an almost fierce look in his blue-green eyes. Then, the look had cleared away with a broad natural smile and she did not feel as if she were looking at anyone, but a baker.

 _A handsome one at that._ She didn't deny when she saw an attractive man, which wasn't very often since she had been living in seclusion with her son and her boyish border, James. There was no harm in acknowledging that the baker was of a good build, with an unconventionally handsome face.

"Mommy," Karl said, hinting at a whine.

"Karl, I said to wait until supper…."

"Mommy, it's Auntie Polly," he said, pointing down the street, the whine changing to excitement. Sure enough, Ada saw Polly driving the car, looking straight ahead, her face white.

 _How did she find me?_

Ada braced herself for the worst. She braced herself for Polly to swerve over to the sidewalk in complete disregard of traffic and human life, to haul her into the car, shout at her in front of her son for abandoning the family, and then drag her unwillingly back to the Shelby clan because once you were born a Shelby, you would always be…."

The car proceeded on its course down the street and rounded a corner in the opposite direction.

 _She didn't see me._

Polly hadn't slowed, stopped, or turned her head. She hadn't seen Ada. She wasn't looking for her niece.

 _What is she doing in Camden town then?_

"Mommy where's Auntie Polly going?" Karl asked, confusion visible on his face. He thought she had seen them. It wasn't like Polly to completely ignore them and in his mind, Polly had done so. He thought Polly saw and knew everything. She always lavished affection on little Karl, solidifying her love with hugs, kisses, and treats that would rot his teeth. She would gush about how beautiful Ada looked and want to know what she was doing with her life. She tried so hard to act like they were a normal family.

 _We're not normal. We're Shelby's._

 _They're Shelby's._

Ada had to make a conscious effort to remove herself from her chaotic family. Yes, she had the Shelby name, and the Shelby blood, but she didn't want to be, "that Shelby girl" or just another Shelby. She wanted to start over.

'"I don't know, sweetheart, but it's getting late and we have to go." She tightened her hold on her son's hand and they began walking again, but she continued to think about Polly. Something was wrong for Polly to be traveling to Camden town alone.

 _She looked upset._

 _You can't get involved._

If she got emotionally involved, she would open herself to being drawn back into her family's web of intrigue, which always had Tommy at its center. If she had to hazard a guess, Polly's visit to Camden had to do with Tommy being Tommy.

 _Well now I have to be the center of my own life, for my sake and for Karl's._

She was going to be Ada, mother of Karl Thorne, and her own person.


	5. Good Morning Mr Churchill

_Everything is falling into place._

What had once been a chaotic jumbled mess in his brain after the war, had now realigned itself into a fully functioning living being. To be more succint, Tommy Shelby had never felt more alive. All it had taken to shake everything back into order was the threat of an imminent, unfair, and entirely unexpected death.

 _Isn't that how it always is?_ Wasn't there always some sort of revelation during dire circumstances?

No one saw death coming, not even the old Tommy Shelby who saw threats lurking behind every corner. But, not even he, the man who saw death in the shadows, had predicted he'd be whisked away from the races, forced into an open grave, reciting the first line of In The Bleak Midwinter, thinking that was his final moment, when he had been spared.

 _By none other than Mr. Winston Churchill._

It was all quite surreal and his system was too shocked to fully process that he had nearly died and then been miraculously spared. After a glass of whiskey and a conversation with Michael, it struck him that he had to change his perspective. He had to grab onto life and never let it go. That was what Michael was doing. Michael was taking care of the books and doing a hell of a lot better job than Arthur or even John. The lad was sharp.

Pride ran through Tommy as he thought of the newest addition to the Shelby clan. He had Polly's brains and zeal. Seeing the determination in Michael's eyes had kindled a determination, a clear focus of his potential future inside Tommy and right then and there, he knew without a shadow of a doubt, that he had to marry May Carleton. Some might have called it impulse, but it went beyond that. He'd thought of her, had spoken about her before being ushered into that grave, before the gun went off. It became clear that Grace, the woman he had pined after, had named his horse after, was not "The One." If he had died in that grave, Grace would have returned to her American husband and claimed the medical treatments had worked, that they would have the child. Tommy Shelby would be forgotten.

But May…

May was the one he had promised he would find after the races and had genuinely meant it. He wouldn't delude himself into thinking that she would never move on after his death, but they had shared something, had bonded in a way that he couldn't explain, two people who had been alone and closed off from the rest of the world, until they found each other. That was why he was driving to the Justice of the Peace to get a notary. He was going to take a chance on Michael with the business and he was going to take a chance with May. There was no need for a coin toss this time.

As he drove, he continued to think about all the events that had led to this particular moment, this drive to the law offices. He thought about the future. Michael would work the books, gain experience under him as a protege. He would marry May. He would get Arthur cleaned up, get John back in line after Esme had led him astray with his talk of the countryside and living like wandering nomads. He would try to make it up to Polly about Michael. She would come around when she saw how he was thriving. Now that Sabini was gone, there was a power-vacuum, one he intended to fill. Campbell was gone. Campbell had been shot point blank in the chest at the races. Tommy wasn't going to waste a second thought on the man who had gotten exactly what he deserved. There was no immediate threat to his family.

 _Don't forget Alfie Solomons._

That man, despite all his rambling and blustering, was no fool. He was a master of contriving an artificial personality. He wasn't a common street-thug, but an educated, intimidating, business man, who had a code on how to approach business. He wasn't insane, despite his erratic behavior. He didn't let that grenade go off just to prove that he was unpredictable and would not cave to anyone. The man was shrewd, practical, and wild, but was someone Tommy could picture falling in line, even if that line were a little jagged and uneven.

 _Never forget what he did to that goat._

He would keep an eye on the baker and unearth more about the man's past in case a situation were to arise where he needed an extra upper hand.

There was traffic, as usual, but Tommy wasn't troubled. He had time to sit back and reflect, without a rival to play cat and mouse with. He pulled up alongside the court house, a somber looking building, parked the car on the sidewalk, stepped outside his car door, and looked around. He saw men, women, children, bustling around on the streets, horses, carriages, cars, nothing out of the ordinary on a sunny morning, until he saw the man who had pulled him out of the grave standing on the side of the street, watching him, with a smug look on his face.

 _Damn it._

When the man had said Mr. Churchill wanted to see him soon, he didn't expect it to be this soon. Government proceedings were always delayed and he expected Churchill's attention to shift to more pressing concerns than a humble bookmaker.

Tommy assessed the situation. He had options. Act like he hadn't seen the man and attempt to make it to the courthouse, which would look like he was running away. He could get back in his car and be followed to another location, by Winston Churchill's toady. He looked down at his watch, reached into his pocket, and nonchalantly took out a cigarette. Hell, he might as well smoke. No turning tail and running. Guess that limited his options.

 _A Shelby doesn't run._

He was irritated make no mistake about it, and by the smug expression on that man's face.

"Didn't think Mr. Churchill forgot about you, did you Tinker?"

Tommy took another drag of his cigarette, resting his eyes on the man's face.

"It might have slipped my mind," he said coolly, acting completely indifferent.

"Well, that's why I'm here to remind you, Mr. Shelby. Why don't we take a wee drive to see Mr. Churchill?"

Tommy bristled at that, knowing the man did it to scare him, remind him of their "wee drive" to that open grave. He took another drag from his cigarette then tossed it to the ground.

"We're taking your car," the man said, motioning for him to open the door. "I'm driving."

There was no point in arguing and causing a scene. The sooner he met with the Prime Minister, the sooner he could be rid of him, and the sooner he would be married. He took the seat on the passenger's side. The drive to wherever Mr. Churchill was, was silent and Tommy had no interest in speaking with anyone who continued to refer to him as a Tinker. The man was nothing in his eyes. He looked out the window, scanning for other cars following them. There would be security all around the Prime Minister of course. The drive was uneventful. They pulled up alongside a hotel, a classy, refined, and altogether vapid looking establishment. Tommy preferred The Garrison, the clubs, the speakeasies. The man parked his car and motioned him to get out. Tommy did so, scanned the area and followed the man up the step where the bell-hop greeted them.

The inside of the hotel revealed a stuffy pastel colored interior, with people who looked like they were lounging around because they literally had nothing else to occupy their time. The man led him past the lobby without being questioned by the reserved looking woman at the front desk, down a hallway, and into a lounge.

"Good morning, Mr. Shelby."

Sitting in a light-colored arm chair, smoking a cigar, was a man who clearly was not Winston Churchill. He was younger, thinner, and did not resemble the Prime Minister in any way shape or form. Tommy looked at his escort who was grinning smugly at him by the doorway.

"What is this?," Tommy asked, his eyes swiveling back to the man in the chair, who was shrouded in thick cigar vapor.

The man in the chair laughed and the escort laughed in unison.

 _Well, he's someone's toady._

"I fail to see the humor in this," Tommy said, reaching into his pocket for another cigarette.

"Oh you can't smoke in here," the seated man said, his eyes widening in mock horror as the cigar hung in his mouth. "Your kind have to go out back."

 _My kind?_

Tommy did not like that sneer on the man's face, or the man in general. He made quick, brief assessments of the man: mid to late thirties, a face that looked as if it were hewn out of stone, and sly beady brown eyes. He took his hand out of his coat pocket, never taking his eyes off of the seated man.

"Who are you and what do you want?" It was best if he kept his tone flat, neutral, unemotional.

The faux Churchill removed the cigar from his mouth and exhaled, deliberately refusing to answer for a beat in an attempt to anger him. If he were Arthur, Tommy would have fallen for the trap and started a row.

"You know, you're not what I expected," the man said, pointing a long index finger at him.

"I'm a busy man," Tommy said, glancing down at his watch. "Whatever you have to say needs to be said now while I have my smoke." He reached into his pocket again, took out a cigarette, and lit it. He wasn't speaking to Winston Churchill so he could damn well smoke where he pleased.

""You're smaller in person and I told you not to smoke in here."

Tommy heard the dangerous edge to the man's voice, but he continued to smoke. He took a long drag of his cigarette.

"When I'm finished with this cigarette, I'm gone, so you'd best not waste any more of my time."

"Heaven forbid I waste Tommy Shelby's precious time, what with all the important things he has to do in his life," the man sneered.

 _Does he think he's riling me up?_

"I can tell you're not taking me seriously and I find that very disrespectful, not to mention ungrateful, considering I saved your life."

"I'll buy you a drink, and we can call ourselves even," Tommy said dryly with not intention of ever fulfilling his end of the bargain. The man laughed, a harsh barking sound ,as if Tommy had said the most hysterical phrase in the world.

"You and me, having a drink? No, no, leave your false gestures to the dolts fluttering around you. I won't be caught dead drinking with a gypsy. No,Thomas," he said, rising to his feet. He was tall, like Alfie Solomons, but not as wide in the chest and shoulders. "We aren't going to have a drink. You owe me for saving your life. You owe me something that's as precious as a first-born child."

Tommy couldn't help, but think of Grace. It was momentary, fleeting. She was carrying his biological child; a piece of information no one could ever know about, for everyone's sake. The thought was replaced by a slow simmering anger as the man continued to try and make him feel as if he were an inferior while wasting his time. May was waiting for him. Business was waiting for him.

The man shook his head and heaved a sigh.

"You know Tommy, you townies and tinkers, you think you've built yourselves up all on your own, that you're self- made men who have somehow elevated themselves by their own sweat and tears. In reality, you're beholden to those who are truly responsible for your success." He pointed to himself. "The wealthy members of society."

 _Bloody hell, not a lecture on the social hierarchy._ All he needed was another elitist, claiming superiority over the proletariat. This was the kind of man Freddy Thorne had been preaching against from the start.

"And that would be you?" he asked, skepticism in his voice. "Whoever the hell you are?"

"Oh, everyone calls me Churchill," Churchill said. "It gets peoples' attention and makes them want to meet with me. Then I tell them, not THAT Churchill, I'm no relation whatsoever… but I digress."

"And I'm finished with my smoke," Tommy said, sick of this entire conversation and the fumes from Churchill's imported foreign cigars. He turned towards the door.

"Alright, I want your business. Inviting you here was a courtesy call. I intend to buy Shelby Brothers Limited from you within the month."

Tommy turned back to face Churchill and laughed, a mirthless sound, and watched as Churchill's hand straying seemly unconsciously to his belt, which had a holstered pistol attached, probably a high-end one.

"You think it's impossible, that you're untouchable?" Churchill said, his eyes narrowing. "Thomas, I'm a business man, and I know how to get the business I want. You're going to sell your company to me for a reasonable price because that's how business transactions work. Also, keep in mind how easy it was for me to spare your life. Just imagine how much easier it will be to end it, along with the lives of your loved ones.

Tommy watched him.

"Ah, I see I've got your attention now." Churchill tossed his cigar down on an ashtray and took a slow step towards Tommy. Tommy didn't move, but his mind was in motion. Churchill looked down the bridge of his nose at him, his eyes cold and said:

"So the next time I tell you not to smoke, you'd better damn well listen."

Tommy's eye contact never wavered.

"I see the wheels spinning in your brain. You're asking yourself, who do I protect? Is he bluffing? Should I call in the Jewish baker with the hammer to pummel the bad man's face in?"

Churchill shook his head, leaning closer to Tommy, but Tommy would not budge. He would not step back and cower.

"The question you should be asking yourself is 'what is the best asking price for my little empire?'"

Tommy dropped the cigarette onto the floor and crushed it under his heel, never taking his eyes off of Churchill.

Churchill clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

"How rude, but what else can you expect from a street urchin?"

Tommy could think of a whole list of unpleasant responses to the man's question, but resisted the urge to voice any of them. There was a time for words and there was a time for observation, and this man needed to be carefully observed. Armed, tall, muscular, someone who might have been a professional boxer judging from the lacerations and swollen appendages on the man's large hands. Someone who wasn't as cultured and sophisticated as he claimed.

 _Why the act?_

Tommy wasn't buying this elitist, I'm from a superior class, persona. He didn't care, whether the man was a capitalist or a devout follower of Karl Marx. What he cared about was the threat to his loved ones and his business. He never took those threats lightly. This man undoubtedly had more men at his disposal to send after his family. But why tell him in advance?

 _He wants to scare me._

Churchill was enjoying himself, planting fears into his mind to make him lose focus and stray from his master-plan. Tired of staring Churchill down like a hawk, he turned and walked to the door. Churchill's toady did not move to stop him and Tommy walked out of the hotel and to his car, vowing to put a stop to this man and show him that no one who valued their livelihood and life would dare threaten Thomas Shelby.


	6. Get In The Car

Tommy drove his car all the way up the winding drive to the doorstep of May Carleton's manse and honked the horn. He waited five minutes, give or take before May opened the door, her face grim and white in anger. She had every right to be angry with him. He was late, yet again. By the time he got out of Churchill's, tried to salvage his appointment with the notary, and battled against an onslaught of traffic due to some parade for some bloody useless government officials, it was long past morning. He didn't even have a notary with him because his appointment had been cancelled after he didn't show up. He'd stopped by the law offices only to find the man occupied with another couple with a line out the door. Apparently everyone in the Birmingham wanted to get married.

Tommy rolled down the window, leaned out into the chill air, and called;

"May, get in the car."

She had her arms crossed closely to her chest. It was chilly outside and she remained behind the partially open door. She was wearing riding boots and her clothes were splattered with mud as if she had just been out for a ride or in the stables. Tommy didn't care. She looked beautiful and he wasn't going to miss his chance to make her his wife.

"Thomas…."

"You. Me. We're driving to the notary. End of discussion."

He knew he was being brusque, but he didn't want to hear whatever words were forming on her lips. Not because he was inconsiderate, but because he had a feeling he knew what she was going to say and deep down, it made him feel panicked.

 _Damn you, Churchill for making me late._

She'd forgiven him once without him having to go into excruciating detail about his near death experience, which he was not yet prepared to disclose to anyone. But a second time? Could he push his luck with her that far? May wasn't the kind of woman to sit around twiddling her thumbs waiting for him.

"May. Get in the car."

May shook her head.

"May, sweetheart." He made his voice less harsh, and more coaxing and apologetic. She wasn't having any of it.

"Is this how it's going to be? Me waiting for you to come around whenever its convenient for you?"

"May…"

"I waited for my husband to come back from The War. I waited and waited and when he came back, he was in a casket. Now you're here, but I'm still waiting. This feels like the war, Thomas except you're right here in front of me. I can't…."

"May, I'm here now. All we have to do is drive…"

May shook her head again, brown curls falling around her pale face, and hard lines forming on her face. Her lips were pursed and and she was not budging from the doorway.

"Damn it May!" he said in desperation, not truly angry at her, but with himself . " This isn't what it's going to be like. I was in traffic. There was a reason…"

 _Like a new mobster pretending to be the Prime Minister who has decided to play cat and mouse._

"There's always a reason Thomas, always an excuse, except some people know how to keep their commitments!"

She stepped back and slammed the door shut in a sudden outburst of anger. Tommy swore and banged his hand on the steering wheel. He flung his door open, strode up to the door, and tried to open the handle. Locked. Then he grabbed the knocker and slammed it against the wood.

"May, open this door."

"No," she said, her voice just as forceful. "If you don't leave I'll have you thrown off the property." She had him there. She knew he didn't want to cause any sort of scene that would get people talking. Their whole relationship had been a secret thus far. It wouldn't do any good to expose it by having an open fight where he had to be dragged off the property.

"I was late, May. Everyone runs late in traffic… Just because I was late doesn't mean I don't love you."

A pause.

"Thomas, you need to leave."

There was a finality to her voice that made Tommy pause from knocking on the door again.

"I'll come back," he said after a long pause. "Every day. I'll prove to you that I'm not a mistake." Silence.

Tommy raised a hand and rubbed it across his face. Then…

"Give me some time," she said, her voice lower, more hesitant. "I need to be alone for a while."

"Done," he answered immediately. He placed his hand on the door, knowing she was still standing on the other side.

 _She'll come around._

He turned reluctantly and walked back to his car, feeling anger stirring in the pit of his stomach.

This was Churchill's fault, or whoever the hell he was. Frankly, Tommy didn't care who he was or wasn't. The fact was, the man was meddling in his life, threatening his business, his family, his future marriage, and Tommy was going to stop it. He drove all the way back home, stopping at the Garrison for a quick whiskey and then to his office. He opened the door and was greeted by a fist colliding into his jaw and knocking him to the hardwood floor.

May watched as he turned and walked to his car. She felt the barrel of the gun ease up on the small of her back, but it didn't move completely away. _Get in the car. Please drive away._ She internally begged for Thomas to leave. She loved him. She wanted to marry him, but he had to get in his car and drive as far away as possible.

The man with the gun was a Scott who called himself Kincaid. Kincaid said that Thomas Shelby had to walk away and if he didn't, if Shelby saw an opportunity to get past the door, he would shoot him and then blow her brains out. Then he would kill everyone else in the house.

It took all of May's self control not to tremble in fear and in rage. She had the urge, not to cower in fear, but to swing around and claw the man's eyes out. How dare he break into her property, threaten her life the man she loved, and all of her staff? She'd come home from an early morning training session, inserted the key into the lock, and been overpowered by a man who'd spent the entire morning and evening lounging around her house, eating her food, and threatening the staff. If it were one man, someone would have been able to stop him. There were others with him, stationed in the various wings of the manse, saying that if anyone tried to leave or raise the alarm, everyone would die. These were men and women living with their children under he employment. They were like family to her and it was her responsibility to keep them safe. She was horrified that they were all at the barrel of a gun in the rooms of her manse and she was powerless to do anything but comply with this man's orders.

She looked through the peephole, feeling the man's breath on the back of her neck as she watched Thomas get into his car and pull down the long drive. She held her breath and only exhaled when his car disappeared from sight. Only then did Kincaid move the gun away from her back and turn her roughly around to face him, giving her a revolting grin and a flash of his tobacco stained teeth. May hated him, his pockmarked face, his watery red eyes. She hated that he and his group had overpowered them all.

"Thank you kindly," he said, leering at her. "Not hard at all was it. Now, you stay away from Mr. Shelby from here on promise me that and we'll all go."

The words tasted like poison in her mouth, but she made the promise. In the wing above her, her butler and seamstress had been forced into a closet while two men

"And a kiss to go," the man said.

"I did what you said. Get out of my house," she said, her voice shaking and her hands forming into fists.

Fair enough, I am a gentleman after all," he said, giving her a look up and down that was anything but gentlemanly. May felt her nostrils flare and the blood rush to her cheeks, but she resisted the urge to attack, knowing that one wrong reaction she would be reduced to blood and brains on the hardwood floor. She was not going to die. She wasn't going to die knowing that she had condemned her people to death by being rash.

Kincaid put a finger to his lips and whistled.

"Alright boys, back we go. We've got a report to make. Chop chop."

May saw a troop of rag tag gruff looking men appear from the doorways on the first and second floor and watched as they filed out the door. She counted fourteen.

"Don't think we won't be watching you, May," Kincaid said as the last one trudged out the door. "Beside's, yer too pretty not to be looked after."

May bit down on her tongue to prevent herself from swearing at him.

"Remember," he said wagging a finger at her. "No contact with Mr. Shelby. Not a word. We've got big plans for him and they don't involve him distracting himself with you. So you keep mum and we won't have any problems."

He closed the door behind him, and May let out a sigh of relief. She turned and saw the haggard white faces of her staff as they all clustered around her, hugging her, touching her shoulder for some sort of support.

"Everything is fine now," she said, clearing her throat. Her throat was parched. "They won't come back as long as everyone is quiet," she said, looking at their pale frightened faces of the women and the angry ones of the men who worked in her stables.

 _Thomas, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?_

She wasn't a fool. She knew Thomas wasn't an upstanding citizen who implicitly followed the law. Everyone knew bookkeeping and the races were like that. His success was a result of breaking rules. Unfortunately, he had done something to upset a very large group of people and now these people had involved her and her staff in some sort of rivalry. Now, she and the members of her household had to live under the threat of those men and whoever they were working for.

"Miss Carleton, what if they come back?" one frightened woman asked, looking around as if were going to reappear.

" _If_ they come back," May said with a strong emphasis on the if, "we will be ready for them." "No one walks around the property alone from now on and you are to tell someone where you are going. And all of you will be armed. No one will walk around this property without some form of protection."

She wasn't going to have anyone be in a vulnerable position again. It was fortunate that those men kept their word about no harm befalling them, making her believe that their issue was with Thomas, and they wanted him all to themselves with minimal collateral. They wanted to keep their intrusion quiet, but May saw the looks on their faces that they would kill all of them if they caught a whiff of defiance. She wasn't going to gamble with peoples' lives including her own on the possibility of a bluff.

 _Thomas, you need to fix this and soon._

In the meantime, she needed to calm her frightened staff and block any possible form of entry other than the front door.

 _Get in the car._

May felt her eyes water. She wanted to get in that car with Thomas. She wanted to jump in that car and kiss him. She wanted to tell him that she was under duress, that he was in danger. She feared for him because he was at war. A chill ran through her as the thought occurred to her that Thomas Shelby might not know what he was up against, a walking target without the slightest idea of who was after him.


	7. You Should Get Out

John stood over his brother, the knuckles on his right hand split and stinging after delivering the blow that had knocked Tommy to the floor. He was too angry to care.

"How could you!" he cried as Tommy shook his head back and forth and staggered to his feet. "How could you do that to Lizzie!"

Tommy looked at him with dazed eyes, which widened slightly as they cleared up.

"Yeah, I know what you made Lizzie do at the races. She's been crying and moping. I finally got her to tell me what you did."

His brother's silence was admission enough, but John wasn't through. The thought of what Lizzie had been through at his brother's hands made him sick.

 _"_ _I don't see the same thing in your eyes I see in in Tommy's. You should get out._

At the time, those words had sent a chill running up John's spine. They were ominous words. Then he shrugged them off, blaming it all on her work at the races, but he couldn't ignore them now, couldn't ignore that his brother had knowingly set Lizzie up to sell herself out again.

'"You made a big show about giving her that job, helping her out, stopping the work, and then you sell her out…"

"John…"

"So, what… you didn't sell Lizzie out at the races?" he asked, searching his brother's face. Tommy rubbed his jaw, breaking eye contact, flicking his eyes away to a corner of the room in a rare admission of guilt.

John remembered how pale Lizzie was, remembered the tears in her eyes and the bruises on her face as he cupped her chin in his hand and hugged her, trying to comfort her. John thought she'd been working again of her own doing, had rubbed salt in the wound by saying how Tommy had told her to stop.

 _And she tried to smile and cover it up._

"It was an accident," Tommy said, rubbing his jaw and shaking his head to reorient himself. "What happened at Epsom was an accident."

"An accident. An accident?" John walked up to him, grabbed him by the front of his coat.

"I was going to marry her," he said, regret in his voice and then everything, everything he had pent up inside him and shut away came tumbling out along with his anger.

"I was going to marry her and love her, but instead you told me…"

"I told you she accepted my offer to…"

"Because no one can resist Tommy Shelby's money! You buy people. You get them to do what you want and she's always needed the money.

 _And she's always wanted you._ He knew and had always hated the fact that Tommy had her first. Tommy always had everything first, his pick of the women, his pick of alcohol, his pick of the horses. Tommy Shelby got whatever he wanted and lorded it all over everyone.

"Nothing ever happens by accident with you. You plan everything. You planned my wedding, you forced me into marrying…"

 _Esme Lee, lying in bed with Johnny Dogs after the races._

John had not told anyone that he had thrown Esme out of the house right then and there, thrown her suitcase and all her clothes into the streets. He'd seen her flirting with that man, but he hadn't thought she would break her wedding vows. Call him old fashioned.

 _Call me a fool._

That had happened first, then he'd run into Lizzie this morning and pried a confession out of her. It was all Tommy's fault.

You know what I think Tommy? I think you liked controlling her. I think you liked telling her what to do, getting her to sleep with other men when you snapped your fingers."

"Don't be ridiculous, John."

" You like controlling everyone and everything. Well you know what? I'm through."

"What?"

"That's right, you heard me. I'm through. I'm packing up and I'm leaving."

 _You should get out._

"Where the hell are you going to run off to? Tommy asked. You don't have any money. You don't have a job outside of the company. Are you and Esme going to go to the countryside and raise pygmy goats?"

John clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists.

" John, I'm sorry about Lizzie. It wasn't personal…"

"What was it, business? Why the hell would Lizzie need to work again for the business?"

"Think this through John. You will be making a mistake."

 _You should get out._

"No, I've already made a mistake by putting up with you and turning a blind eye to everything you're doing, for letting you tell me who to marry. I'm not putting up with it anymore."

He let go of the front of Tommy's coat and pushed him backwards. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to work for Uncle Peter on the waterfront. He was going to raise some money on his own before buying a house somewhere in the country.

 _And I'm going to take Lizzie with me._

He'd take Lizzie, he'd take the children. They would start over.

"You're not taking your children out of school and shipping them out to the country, John."

"They're my kids. I can do what I want. They'll be a lot better off for it being away from you. While I'm at it, I'll take Finn with me. God knows he needs a change."

"You've spoken to Esme about this?"

"My _wife_ was naked in my bed with Johnny Doggs and I threw her out of my house, so no I didn't talk to her about this!" Not to mention, he had thrown Doggs bodily down the steps then took those steps two at a time to shove him out the front door.

 _Should have thrown him out the bloody window._

The truth was out now, and what was worse was that Tommy did not look shocked by that piece of news.

"Now I know why Ada is always upset with you. You ruin everything!"

Maybe he sounded like a child then, little John whining at older, holier than thou Thomas Shelby who could do no wrong. There was a pause in the conversation before Tommy said:

"If that's how you feel, then get out."

John stared at him, shocked by how easy it was for his brother to let him go.

"You've made your point. Get out. Take the kids and Finn with you. Take Lizzy. Leave."

Tommy's voice was cold as he walked over to his desk and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"Go on then," Tommy said, bringing the glass to his lips and cringing slightly at the pain in his jaw. He waved his hand towards the door.

John felt his face begin to tremble. He was beyond angry, he was hurt that after everything, Tommy was just going to brush him off, like a speck of dirt on his coat, as if he were meaningless.

 _I helped him make this company._

"It's so easy for you to turn your back on family, wash your hands of us…."

Tommy slammed the glass hard down on the desk. John saw the cracks form in the glass, but it didn't shatter.

"Let me make something very clear to you. Not once, have I ever turned my back on this family. If there's anyone here doing that, it's you. Now get out."

John stared at him, his lips trembling, nostrils flaring, then with a conscious effort, he unclenched his fists. Tommy continued to drink his whiskey. A chill had descended over the room.

"Well then," John said, clearing his throat, trying to fill that silence.

"Well then," Tommy repeated, not looking at him as he put the bottle of whiskey back in the desk. There was more silence before Michael came into the room, saying something about the books, the books John had pored over, had slaved over. He had done everything for Tommy, done everything for the family.

 _What was the bloody point?_

John turned his back on Tommy, walked past Michael without a word, without even looking at him, and made his way down the stairs. He ran into Arthur at the front door who was grinning from ear to ear, his face a deep tomato red indicating he had been drinking during the day.

 _Again._

"John!" Arthur yelled, his voice booming. "Good old John, loyal John, have a drink with me will you Johnny boy? Us Peaky Blinders deserve a celebration! C'mon, grab Finn, grab Michael.. Hell, get Pol and that grouch Tommy and let's all go down to the Garrison. Drinks on me, how's that? First Epson, then the world, am I right?!"

"Not now Arthur," John said, pushing past his brother who reeked of alcohol, and walking out the door into the street. He'd left the car by the house since it was a nice day and he wanted to walk to clear his head. He wanted to keep it clear of Esme, who had made his blood boil all day. Now he needed to cool off from Tommy.

"Where the hell're you going?" Arthur called. John ignored him and made his way down the sidewalk, already planning on what to pack and how to get the kids all set. He'd have to sit them down and explain why they had to leave and somehow tell them Esme was gone. He hated to do that to them, especially to Katie who had grown very close to his wife, but he couldn't even bear to look at the woman after what he'd seen. How could he take her back?

 _Martha never would've done that to me._

Martha was his first love, his wife, the mother of his children. She never would have been with another man and John would never have dreamed of betraying her in any way.

 _She couldn't stand Tommy either. She hadn't said a word, but I always knew how she felt._

John remembered all those times she had excused herself from the room whenever Tommy dropped by, saying she had to tend to the kids, how her body would tense when she looked at him. John couldn't understand at the time why she was cold towards his brother, when she was friendly to everyone else. He had ignored it because he loved her and she was a good woman who took care of him and their children. Tommy wasn't exactly the easiest person to warm up to, what with The War and all.

 _She knew he was rotten inside._

Martha knew it. Lizzie knew it and had warned him. Ada knew it, which was why she was always running away. Hell, maybe even Pol knew it deep down which was why she desperately wanted to keep Michael away from them all. Arthur didn't know up from down and was a lost cause. Finn…

 _Where has Finn been?_

Ever since the races, he hadn't seen head nor tail of his youngest brother. Pol would make comments that he was running around with other kids getting into mischief most- likely, but now that John thought about it, he hadn't actually had a conversation with the kid in a long time. He'd been too caught up in his suspicions about Esme sleeping around town and then furious when he discovered the truth and the truth about Lizzie. The thought of Lizzie being a pawn in Tommy's game made John feel guilty. He had been completely clueless about what she was going through, this woman that he had almost married and still had feelings for, always siding with Tommy without asking questions. He was as bad as Arthur.

 _I'll find Finn. I'll find Lizzie._

It wouldn't be too difficult to track the two of them down. Then they'd all go to Uncle Peter and get themselves set up for the future.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of sirens, and fire-trucks careening down the street behind him. Cars pulled sharply to the corners to carve a path for the trucks, which were speeding towards the flames. John's stomach lurched as he realized the location of the fire was near his house, in his neighborhood. He broke into a run, following the wailing sirens. He ran without stopping.

His blood ran cold when he saw that the front door was blown off its hinges, glass littered the ground and that the flames were jutting from his house as well as several houses nearby. He saw the swarms of people crowding around, being warded off by police and panic set in.

 _The kids._

The kids and the nanny were in the house when he left. The fire had reached the second floor and the building was turning black. John could see the roof sinking. Without thinking, he rushed towards the collapsing house, shouting his children's names and trying to get close to the house. A police officer stopped him, saying that he had to stay back, that the whole area was off limits. The fire was spreading quickly due to all the buildings being jammed close together and the police were trying to get people a safe distance away.

"My kids! Where are my kids?!" John shouted, fear rising inside him as the roof caved and fire- fighters started pumping water onto the house from their hose. They were too slow. They had trouble attaching the hose to the spout, had trouble lifting the hose, and by the time they raised it to the building, everyone inside was going to be dead, but before that happened he was going to charge up through that doorway with smoke pouring out of it,even if it killed him, to save his children.

"John!"

John turned and saw Esme who had called to him, holding Katie in her arms. Charlie, Max, and John Junior clung to her dress. They were standing at a distance, on the opposite side of the street. He rushed towards them, pushing against the increasingly growing crowd to get to them. He grabbed Katie out of Esme's arms and hugging his daughter tightly as he simultaneously reached for his boys who were pale- faced and shaking. He turned to Esme. None of them were covered in ash or looked injured in any way. He saw police hauling people covered in ash and burns out of adjacent buildings.

"We weren't in the house," Esme explained, her voice shaking as she looked at their collapsing home. "I.. I came back for some things this morning. The kids were back early from school and they wanted to go out for ice-cream and shopping. They begged me so I took them all and Tilda…."Esme put a hand over her mouth.

John turned to look at their home and anger filled him, anger and disbelief. His entire life had gone up in smoke. His house, his possessions, his sense of security. Then there was Tilda, who was most likely dead. He was going to get to the bottom of this. He scanned the crowds of people, drawn to the flames and the chaos. He called a policeman over who he recognized as a friend of the Peaky Blinders and asked him for information.

Tilda, the nanny Tommy had hired to tend to his family, had been inside when four large burning bottles filled with petrol had been thrown at the house from the side of a car, which stopped abruptly by his house. This car had been packed with masked men who had thrown the four bottles one after another in short succession at John's front door, the first floor, the roof, and his car. The fire had spread quickly to the adjoining houses and was at risk of spreading even further. All of this had occurred in a matter of minutes.

The authorities found Tilda's scorched body and the remains of shattered flasks, which were still burning. John quickly put two and two together. His house, _his family_ had been targeted.

 _My car was by the house. They thought I was home. They did it when the kids would be out of school._

 _You should get out._ Lizzie's words rang in his head, a dire warning of what was to come. This life was dangerous, but no one had ever dared to blatantly threaten a Peaky Blinder and in broad daylight. No, that wasn't true. The Lees had pulled a similar stunt at the Garrison before their feud had been settled with his marriage to Esme. No one had threatened them recently. No one had been serious about threatening them because they knew the unspoken rule that when you messed with The Peaky Blinders, you ended up dead. All anyone had to do was look at what happened to Billy Kimber.

 _Was it Sabini's men? The Irish? Alfie Solomons?_ Obviously, they had enemies. John was at a loss as to who in particular was after them now. Whoever it was though, meant business.

 _"_ John?" Esme was calling his name and the kids were looking at him with fear in their eyes.

John looked at them, coming back to himself and hating what he was about to say aloud after so vehemently denouncing a certain brother of his.

"I've got to talk to Tommy."

If there was anyone who would know how to protect his family, it would be Tommy. Call him a hypocrite, but John was now in a position where he was in need of his older brother's protection. His children needed protection. Tommy would put a stop to whatever rival gang was targeting them.

 _They killed Tilda._

The woman was old, slightly lame in her right leg, and going blind in her right eye, but John viewed her as one of the family. The kids loved her. They hadn't experienced death since they lost their mother and John had hoped they wouldn't have to experience it again so soon. That was why he always kept them as far away from the business as possible.

The fire had spread quickly. People had heard screaming from the house before it was engulfed in flames. Whatever was in those bottles had to be more than oil, probably a mixture of some other chemicals that made everything catch fire at once.

He looked at Esme, at her pale face and windswept brown hair and thought about how this woman, this woman he had been so angry with in the morning, had unwittingly saved his children's lives. If she hadn't come back, hadn't taken the boys and Katie for ice-cream and a day out on the town, they would be as dead as Tilda. He couldn't forgive her for what she did in his own home with Doggs, but he was now in a position where he needed to thank her for saving what was most precious to him. Needless to say, he was in a difficult position with his wife, as well as his brother, positions John couldn't dwell too much on because the more pressing problem was the unknown enemy targeting them all.

"Esme," he began, trying to thank her and wondering at the same time why she had destroyed their marriage.

Esme cut him off with a brisk nod then averted her gaze to Katie who was tugging at her dress, wanting to be picked up again after John had set her down.

 _Alright then_. Now, they all needed to see Tommy because they had no home now, nothing but the clothes on their backs. However, John wasn't going to let his pride get in the way of the fact that they were safer with Tommy and his men, than being out on the streets without a clue as to who was after them.

"Come on," he said, motioning his children away from the sirens, the firetrucks and back down the street. "We're going to see uncle Tommy," Esme added, taking Katie's hand. "He'll be glad to see all of you."

 _You should get out._

Lizzie's warning echoed faintly in his head. There was no getting out of this, now. This was personal. He silently apologized to her and made a promise that once this was over, once they were all in the clear, he would buy that house in the country and take her with him. Until then, he needed to protect his children and stay away from Lizzie so she didn't become a target. He needed to show those bastards that they had made the greatest mistake of their lives when they threatened John Shelby and the people he loved.


	8. The Medium

Polly entered the dimly lit fortune teller's room, taking a seat at the circular table facing the door and folding her hands in her lap. She was having troubling dreams again. The last time was when she dreamt of Anna before discovering that her daughter had died. Granted, she had reconnected with Michael, but the dreams were omens of something evil that was about to occur or had already occurred without her knowledge. She looked around the table. The medium, a woman around forty years old wearing gaudy baubles of fake precious stones and a musty-smelling taffeta gown, was trying her best to look mysterious and intriguing. There was another woman wearing tattered clothes with a haggard face who jumped at the slightest creak of the table or chairs, and an old man sitting beside her with no teeth who seemed to have a perpetual smile plastered across his face.

 _Such excellent company._

Polly glanced at the grandfather clock across the room and saw that she had arrived just in time as the meeting was scheduled to begin in less than two minutes according to the flyer she had seen posted on the door. She had been searching half the day for any sort of medium who could tell her what to make of these dreams, that she hadn't already been to. She shifted her position in her seat, waiting.

Just as the meeting was about to begin, a tall broad shouldered man walked through the door. The room shook when he lumbered in, massive, bearlike, but he was not clumsy.

 _Powerful_. That was the word Polly thought of, as she watched him enter the room. Polly believed you could tell a lot about a person by the way they entered a room. You could be confident and powerful, timid like the frightened woman with the tattered clothes, a buffoon like the grinning gaping toothless man who had tripped over his feet on the doorstep, or quiet like Tommy.

 _Or me._

The man cast his black top hat and coat onto an available seat before taking the seat himself and moving close to the table. The medium cleared her throat and looked away from the man.

"Good evening. Let us begin. Who would like to…"

Polly leaned forward, wanting to be the first to speak. The sooner she spoke, the sooner she might possibly get answers and the sooner she could leave Camden Town, before her nephews started asking questions as to her whereabouts.

"I'll go," the last man to enter said. He laced his fingers together and planted his hands heavily down on the table, making it shake.

He paused a moment before speaking, squinting his blue eyes and running a hand across his beard in thought, a motion, which looked calculated to Polly. She saw a crafty intelligence in this man's seemingly open and honest face.

 _Or maybe I read too deeply into everything._ Maybe her interest stemmed from the fact that this man had an intriguing aura about him, and was maybe more than the average level of attractiveness of a Birmingham man. She might be getting on in years, but she wasn't blind.

"You see, I've got myself a quandary. There's this little fellow," the man began, "about yay high" he added, raising his hand to the level of the table in a gross over exaggeration that made a Polly's lips pull into a partial smirk.

"And this little man, he's at the back of my mind, picking at me, putting me in a difficult business situation because he's so bloody popular. I don't hate him per se, but he wronged me and I need to know if I should forgive him or not and how to go about doing that."

The medium looked confused. This musty little room was a place for spirits, not confessions and questions about morality.

"If you're asking me advice about your confession, I think a church…"

" _DO I LOOK LIKE A BLOODY CATHOLIC TO YOU_?!"

The woman in the tattered clothes beside him cringed as he raised his voice. The gap toothed man stiffened in alarm. Polly realized it was calculated and remained still with her arms folded.

 _Why does he try so hard to appear unbalanced?_

The man raised his hand.

"Sorry, sorry, long day at work, nothing personal."

"What exactly are you asking of me and the spirits?" the woman asked, trying to sound airy and ethereal instead of a slightly confused, and intimidated con-artist.

An intent expression crossed the man's face and he leaned forwards towards the medium, who Polly saw made a great effort not to lean back in her seat.

"I'd like to know if there's some king of spirit or what not, that can inspire me to some glorious act of unselfish forgiveness, eh?"

"Well.. Part of being able to forgive comes from within."

"Right right, but I need a sign, something extra, insurance or peace of mind."

Polly's attention was caught by the word insurance. Maybe assurance, but not something so… practical.

" Is this man close to you, family or…."

"Business rival, partner of sorts. I run a bakery and this chap knows how to do business. He's good at business, but he might be too good if you know what I'm saying." He gave the medium a conspiratorial wink.

 _She doesn't know._ The medium was clearly at a loss as to what this man was talking about.

 _Baker my eye._

This intimidating, fierce looking man, was no baker and what he was saying was that he wanted justification for "something to happen" to this man who he was clearly in competition with.

The baker sighed.

"Guessing this is not your area of expertise, right then…. I met this woman, good looking woman outside my bakery. Can you tell me if I've got a shot with her? Read my palms or something?

"Hold out your hands,"" the woman said and Polly watched as the baker extended his large calloused hands. The woman took them and turned his palms so they were facing upwards.

"I call on the spirits of love and grace. Give me your wisdom as to this man's future."

 _The woman's a sham._ She wasn't sure of herself, like the one from home, the one who had told her about Anna and the one she could never return to again.

 _That woman knows who I am._

"The spirits say you and this woman will cross paths again and kindle a more intimate relationship."

The man raised a hand and rubbed it across his beard,contemplating the woman's completely useless answer.

 _That looks a little more genuine._

Then he shrugged and looked down at his hands.

"Guess that's not too difficult to believe. Probably'll see her buying groceries again with the little chap." His eyes snapped up when he realized he was musing aloud to a group of strangers.

"Carry on," he said, waving a hand and Polly decided to speak her mind, more as a way to unburden herself than to get actual answers.

"I'm having dreams, dreams about a… burning building."

 _The Garrison._

In the dream, she had walked up to the pub to see flames dancing inside the building.

The pub door had been rigged with explosives in the past, but Polly didn't think this was mere memory playing a trick on her as she slept.

"Like the burning bush," the baker interjected. "God's speaking to you, plain and simple."

"There was blood on the windows," Polly went on, acting as if the man hadn't spoken. In all honesty he was beginning to irritate her.

"The front windows were shattered and there was blood on the glass."

The medium, as Polly expected, was at a loss. Silence fell over them. The ragged looking woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat, clearly uneasy. The toothless man stopped grinning.

The baker cleared his throat.

"If I may mam, sounds to me like you're thinking about sacrifice of some kind. Blood, broken windows, a burning building," he rattled off, as if all of those variables were supposed to mean something collectively. Maybe… you've got to let something important go, let it burn to the ground, shed a little blood to see the bigger picture."

Polly stared at him, convinced he was not a baker.

"If you want to get metaphorical," the baker added quickly.

"And I heard screaming," she went on. "Male screams, and…. A child's." That child's screams troubled her the most. She wasn't afraid of fire or a little blood, but the child's screams was what had made her wake up in a cold sweat.

"Are you a mother?" the medium asked before the baker could make any more interpretations.

"Yes," Polly said immediately.

"How did you feel when you saw these sights?"

"I was terrified."

 _How else would I feel?_

It was embarrassing how terrible this so called medium was. Polly predicted she would not be in business for long.

The baker slapped a hand against the table, making the haggard woman jump in her seat again.

"Personal Armageddon, plain as day. You're expecting something terrible, you're seeing blood and fire. Case closed. Adjourned, what have you. Good night to you all, Peace be with you," he said, pushing the chair back, scraping the wooden floor, grabbing his hat and coat, and striding out the door in a whirlwind that left the rest of them partially stunned in their seats.

Polly looked at the remaining guests and the medium and concluded that staying would waste even more of her precious time, so she paid, and left. She caught a glimpse of the man rounding a corner in the fading light. Darkness was falling quickly tonight. She scanned her surroundings as she walked briskly to her car. She knew she had wasted time, but she never ignored the dreams when they started occurring. They were always important. They had revealed her daughter's death to her and reunited her with her son. The problem was finding someone who could interpret them for her.

 _Maybe you've got to let something important go._

Surprisingly, there was wisdom in those words. Her dreams could be interpreted as losses, with the exception of Michael. There was the loss of her daughter, the loss of the Garrison, the potential loss of something precious to her….

She shoved those thoughts from her mind and directed her thoughts to events occurring in the present. She thought about Tommy getting married at the Justice of the Peace. Who was he marrying and why was he in such a rush? The last woman Tommy had been smitten by was Grace, who had broken his heart. She thought about Michael, enthusiastically working for Tommy. She thought of Arthur and John, and Finn, and Ada. She made a mental note to visit her niece and Karl.

Polly unlocked the door to her car and climbed inside. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb, lost in thought.


	9. Give My Regards

_What a load of hogwash._

Alfie didn't know what he had expected to come of his spontaneous sit-down with that woman who claimed she was some conductor of spiritual beings.

 _Chalk it up to boredom._

At the end of the day after terrorizing his employees, he had realized he was bored.

 _All work and no play._

 _Or too much idleness._

He felt idle. He might be running around, shouting orders to his men and concocting schemes, but where were the fruits of his labor in regards to that troublesome loose end named Thomas Shelby? What had he actually done to solve his dilemma?

He was at a crossroads, an uncertain junction in his life and all because of Thomas Shelby. Should he kill him. Should he not kill him? Should he wait. Should he act? It was all becoming so goddamned exhausting to think about so he had decided to seek spiritual counsel in prayer over a bottle of rum, but when he wasn't miraculously enlightened, he realized he'd better find something else to do to occupy his time. He'd grabbed a another drink and a bite to eat at a pub down the street, walked around town, thought of that good looking woman and realized he hadn't gotten her name. He had looked at the other women around him throwing themselves at the bartenders and bus-boys and had not felt a flicker of interest in a single one.

 _Not one._

Yet that one woman with her thin face, short hair, and solemn eyes was at the back of his brain, picking away at him. Now he had Thomas Shelby and this unnamed woman chipping away at his brain, driving him into a frenzy. It had even driven him to a false mystic and some strange woman talking about burning buildings and children screaming. He had to admit that her words had been a little chilling and she was clearly distressed, which was why he'd tried to (in an unusual bout of generosity) ease her fears by providing some sort of explanation. Clearly, she wasn't getting anything out of that cracked woman and those two terrified dolts on either side of him.

Alfie shrugged and continued walking down the street, one hand secured around the pistol at his belt.

He knew these streets like the back of his hand and walked them with confidence. If anyone tried to jump him (which had actually happened before) one shot and the problem was solved. It didn't trouble him that the light was fading. He wasn't afraid of a little darkness. That was what street lamps were for and there were plenty of those all around. People were milling about the pubs and clubs, little lads with girls on their arms, laughing and talking completely oblivious of the man in the top hat walking the streets holding a pistol at his belt. Sometimes Alfie envied them all, envied their ignorance. However he knew that when push came to shove, it was better to be the one on his guard, be the one with the successful business who was powerful enough to keep his enemies at bay and make everyone fear him, than some ignorant youth taking his girl out on the town.

 _Although that would be nice.._ He pictured that, taking a pretty woman, all dolled up for him for drinks in a club, dancing with her under a chandelier in a ball room like in the pictures.

 _if you were a sentimental sap._ The more practical, logical part of his mind said, finishing the first part of that sentence and cutting those thoughts short. The world was filled with enough troubles without some woman getting inside his head. He'd managed to live thus far without any serious distractions of that sort and he would continue on in that fashion.

He would also lose the shadows that had been tailing him for the past block.

 _Kids_.

He had seen them, four boys under the age of thirteen out of the corner of his eye while there was still a little light left, creeping along the walls and trying to follow him unseen. He listened to their feet pattering behind him. Young kids were known to wander in groups, picking pockets on the streets at night. Alfie loosened his grip on the pistol. He continued to walk at a leisurely pace, reevaluating his plan. No use in shooting at a gang of street urchins. Bad publicity, killing a bunch of children, even if they were up to no good. Not to mention he drew the line somewhere. He wasn't a homicidal maniac who killed women and children. He'd bash a few faces with a hammer to instill fear and intimidation into potential employees, maybe kill a goat every once in a while, but there was a line he did not cross.

They carried on in that fashion until Alfie, seeing that they weren't going to cease and scatter, stopped in his tracks, turned around, and growled,

"Off with you!"

He saw the shadowy figures stiffen at the sound of his voice, then heard retreating footsteps running in the opposite direction. One of them said,

"I told ya, shouldn't have picked im. Told ya he knew we were after im."

 _Kids these days._

Alfie shook his head and turned around, coming face to face with two hooded figures standing under the street lamp in front of him.

"Good evening to you," Alfie called, moving his hand slowly back to his pistol under his coat as he walked towards them. "Lovely night ain't it?"

The figures didn't answer. Carefully, he loosened the pistol from his belt while continuing to walk forward. He scanned his surroundings. The brick wall was to his left, the street was to his right, and the two men were in front of him. No one was going to ambush him from the side or from behind. The two figures remained where they were, their arms crossed over their chests. No hands in pockets reaching for concealed weapons.

 _Odd._

"I said, a lovely night yeah?" Alfie went on, slowing his pace, evaluating his options. The hooded men said nothing and remained so still that Alfie wondered if they were real or stuffed mannequins from one of the department stores. He didn't like the fact that they were just standing there. Were they going to charge him head on? That would be an idiotic plan.

"Christ someone'd think you lads are statutes," he went on cheerily. Don't you two have somewhere to be?"

 _Two shots._

Alfie braced himself for the act and increased his pace.

 _Now or never._

With lightening quick reflexes he had polished in similar situations, he drew the pistol out of his coat, aimed, and….

"Oy!"

Alfie's eyes traveled upwards at the sound of a voice above his head and immediately wished he hadn't as a bag full of rocks, pebbles and coal came raining down on top of him. He lowered his head, shielding his eyes with his hands and feeling blood well up underneath his eyes as the rocks cut his skin. He was momentarily blinded by the dust. Then he felt liquid run down his clothes and he realized what was about to happen next.

 _Shit._

He raised the gun and fired up straight towards the roof. He broke into a run, swerving to his right, gritting his teeth and trying to clear his vision. He heard the sound of a body hitting the ground and knew his bullet had met its mark. He yanked his coat off, which had been doused with petrol, and threw it as far away from him as possible. His eyes stung from the dust and oil and he felt blood running down his cheeks.

In all the commotion, he had momentarily forgotten about the two hooded figures until they came at him from either side and began beating him with their fists, driving him into a side-alley away from the main street. Rage filled Alfie when he realized that he had fallen right into their trap. His vision turned red and he lashed out at his assailants. He wasn't going to go out like this, not without a good old fashioned last stand. He grabbed the man to his right, wrapped his hands around the man's neck, and choked the life out of him. He felt the man go limp in his arms, tossed him away and then he swung around to deal with the other one.

He froze as something sharp pierced his lower back, and stayed there. Blinding pain shot up his back and he felt the blood running down the back of his shirt. His hands fell to his side and he lost all sense of what he was supposed to be doing.

In his moment of shock, the second man grabbed him from behind by the scruff of his neck then shoved him against the brick wall, pressing his face so forcefully into the bricks that blood ran down his nose.

Alfie swore as he heard the sound of a match being lit.

"I have three options," a male voice said in a Scottish accent. "Burn ya alive right where you stand with this match here," Alfie saw the light from the match out of the corner of his eye. "Pull this knife out of yer back and leave ya to bleed out like a stuck pig…"

Alfie bit down on his tongue to keep from shouting out as the man wiggled the knife in his back.

"Or I let you go with a message."

Alfie spit blood out of his teeth in contempt.

"Give my regards to Thomas Shelby."

 _Of course._

Alfie laughed then, a rasping guttural sound. He couldn't help it and it helped distract him from the pain in his back. He wished he could say it felt like a pin or a splinter, but it was excruciating.

"Good evening to ya Mr. Solomons," the man hissed before letting go of him. Alfie's legs buckled and he slid down the wall. Somehow he managed to remain conscious and not fall onto his back.

 _Give my regards to Thomas Shelby._

He raised his hands and pressed them against the brick wall, trying to stand up. With an effort he rose onto his feet, swaying and trying to catch himself on the wall. Tommy Shelby apparently had made some new enemies.

 _Maybe he actually blew up their businesses. Put a couple grenades in their factories._

He laughed again, his head spinning, feeling his lips crack as he started grinning. He felt giddy, drunk…

 _Why the hell am I laughing?_

His situation came crashing down on him.

 _I've got a knife in my back. I'm covered in petrol. I don't know where in the hell I am and it's because of Shelby._

Surprisingly he couldn't feel frightened or angry about it, which was a very bad sign according to a small functioning portion of his brain. Blood was running down his back and he stank to high heaven of gasoline. He needed to find a phone and get himself onto a hospital gurney.

 _Facedown. Facedown on a gurney. No point in driving this blade deeper._

He winced, taking one tentative step forward, both his hands against the wall. He made it back out into the street, holding the wall for support. He stayed close to the wall as he made it to the street, searching for a place he could make a call. He saw one large building in the distance, completely illuminated. He staggered towards it and this time nearly fell as his vision clouded over. He swore again and pushed himself back to his feet, pushing onward for what felt like an eternity. He made it to the wide front steps of the building and collapsed onto all fours.

He heard screams and realized people were screaming at the sight of him, bleeding, covered in ash and dust, getting blood on the front steps.

"Mr. Solomons?"

Alfie raised his eyes to see her, all decked out in white, like some sort of angel, wearing a white knit cap, coat and scarf with light shining on her from the opened door.

"Someone call an ambulance," she yelled, taking the steps two at a time and bending down towards him.

"Mr. Solomons," she said again, alarm on her face as she crouched down beside him.

"Alfie," he said, his words slurring. He tried to stand.

"Do not move," she ordered, her voice stern. He looked up and saw the concern on her face. He wanted to apologize for being a literal bloody mess, although she didn't seem frightened by the blood.

"Alright Alfie," she said, her tone brisk as she slipped out of her coat, wrapped it up into a ball, and pressed it against his back.

"Don't ruin your pretty coat for me," he said. She ignored him, placing a steadying hand on his side and pressing the coat against his back around the knife hilt.

"Who did this to you?" she asked, reaching up towards her neck, removing her scarf and rolling it up into a ball like she did the coat.

"Don't know," he said trying to stop her from ruining her scarf as well, but she ignored him and dabbed at his lacerated and bloody face.

"The ambulance will be here any minute."

Alfie nodded, pressing his head down against the cool marble step.

"You're going to be alright," she added. Her voice sounded distant now. His vision flickered.

 _This wouldn't be the worst way to go,"_ flashed across his mind. He closed his eyes and was even starting to feel a little peaceful when a slap to the face jolted him back to his senses.


	10. Promise Me

Ada could not believe the sight in front of her as she walked down the steps. Here, curled up on all fours like a wounded animal outside the club was the baker, Alfie Solomons. He was bleeding and reeked of petrol. The hilt of a knife jutted out of his back and she saw blood dripping down the hilt, dripping onto the ground. Immediately she bent down beside him and tried to stop the bleeding with her coat. She was no stranger to blood and physical injury. Her brothers had been in enough fights for her to become desensitized to it and to know to apply pressure to a wound. She also knew that knife embedded in his back was keeping him from dying of blood loss right then and there.

However, she wasn't desensitized to human emotion. He was in terrible pain and she could see it as he tried to rise to his feet. What frightened her was that he was displaying signs of succumbing to his wounds by resting his head down on the step, and closing his eyes. She couldn't let him die at her feet. She slapped him. People were staring, being unhelpful and the goddamn ambulance wasn't arriving fast enough.

"Alfie," she said, trying to call him back. "Alfie, you need to stay awake."

"Alright angel," he muttered.

"Ada," she said, knowing he was clearly light-headed and disoriented from blood loss and remembering she had never told him her name during their first meeting. "My name's Ada. It's nice to see you again."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Not the best.. circumstances."

"It's alright." She dabbed a cut under his left eye with the scarf and wiped the blood of his nose. He grimaced.

"It's ruined.. your coat…scarf."

"It's not important."

 _It's only clothing._ She changed subjects.

"Karl enjoyed the bread. He said it was the best bread he ever tasted."

 _I told the sitter I would be home soon._

A smile formed on his face and she saw blood in his teeth.

"Did he now? That's nice of the little fellow." His eyes closed again and he sagged against her as all his strength left him. She did her best to hold him upright.

"Alfie."

He was muttering what sounded like an apology.

"Stop it, Alfie stop apologizing."

She hated this. She looked down the street, praying that she would hear the sirens, see the truck rounding the corner. He needed a hospital. He was shaking against her from the cold, from blood loss, from sheer pain. On an impulse she reached up and ran her hand through his hair, trying to calm him down.

"Ssh," she said, rubbing his upper back. "Ssh. You're going to be fine."

The smell of petrol was overpowering. It was all over his clothes, in his hair…

 _Someone tried to burn him alive._

That thought made her blood run cold. Who would do something like that? Who would pour petrol on a man and stab him with what looked like a large butcher knife?

 _People in Tommy's world._ She wasn't naive. People were capable of anything, she'd been threatened enough times to know that, but why do this to a baker?

He swore loudly then groaned.

" I'm sorry Ada…."

"Ssh." She'd heard foul language growing up, living with four brothers and Polly who was the worst of all of them. In addition, he had every reason to be cursing right now.

"I ruined your night."

 _Where is that ambulance?_

" No more apologies. I forbid you."

He laughed at that, which came out sounding more like a gasp.

"I mean it," she said. My feelings are the last thing you should be thinking about right now. You're going to go to the hospital and get better and keep running your bakery. Alright? Can you promise me that?"

"Mhmm."

She was losing him again. His eyes were rolling back in his head.

"Alfie!"

His face went slack and he fell against her.

"Alfie. Alfie wake up!" She couldn't hold back the fear in her voice. She patted his face, which was completely milk-white, blood staining her hands. Her heart leapt in her chest at the sound of a siren finally approaching her. She looked up and saw the ambulance. They parked the vehicle and two paramedics came out the back of the vehicle with a stretcher. They rushed towards Ada and quickly lifted Alfie up, looking him over, and placing him face down on the stretcher.

"Are you hurt miss?" they asked.

"No," Ada said. "No, It's only him." She looked down at the stretcher, at Alfie lying helpless on the white sheet, his blood staining it red.

 _"_ Are you sure?" they asked and it dawned on Ada that she was covered in his blood, that she looked like she was gravely injured.

"Yes, I'm fine,"she said. "Just… make sure he's alright, Please."

She didn't want him to die. She didn't want a man she had promised would be alright, to die.

"He's bleeding heavily," she said. "Someone attacked him. He needs medical attention RIGHT NOW."

She was suddenly angry, angry that this had happened, that he could die and that they were late. She was angry at those useless gawking club goers who were _still_ standing around while a man was trying not to die in her arms.

 _Get him out of here._

They told her which hospital they were taking him to and whisked the stretcher away. They piled into the back of the ambulance, leaving her standing alone, shivering in the cold night air. She looked down at her blood stained coat and scarf, crumpled in a heap on the step. She had no desire to pick either item of clothing up. She closed her eyes, feeling sick, then opened them again when she had collected herself.

 _I have to go home. I have to go home to Karl. I have to go home and wash up and read him a story._

She turned, trying to remember where she had parked her car and saw it by one of the parking meters not far away. She ignored everyone around her, strangers who were completely useless in a time of crisis.

 _Not that I did much good._

What if he died on the way to hospital? What if he died in the hospital alone?

 _I can't think about that right now. I have to get home to my son. I have to go home._

She felt guilty then, guilty because the thought crossed her mind that she should go to the hospital tonight and stay by his side instead of leaving him alone, and then even more guilty when she realized she could not leave her son home alone all night for someone who was practically a stranger. She wouldn't do either one any good. Alfie would be unconscious and unaware of her presence and her son would wonder where she was. She already felt guilty for spending a few hours at that party, for wanting to go out and enjoy herself.

 _I' will go home to my son._

 _I will visit Alfie tomorrow. He is going to be fine. The doctors will take care of him._

 _They couldn't take care of Freddie._

Ada felt her face tremble and tears rise unbidden in her eyes as she sat down in the front seat of her car, as the events of the night caught up with her, Alfie, lying helpless on the ground, the smell of petrol that she could not get out of her nostrils, all that blood.

 _Stop it._

She jammed the key into the ignition, driving the thoughts away from her mind and focusing solely on getting home.


	11. A Family Meeting

Tommy looked around the dimly lit parlor, studying each person in the room. Arthur sat at a circular table, pouring himself a glass of Scotch from a large bottle he had commandeered from the Garrison. He was red faced, his eyes were streaming, and he was attempting to stifle a cough by smothering it in his shirt sleeve.

 _Drunk as usual._ Tommy made a mental note to change the locks on the Garrison cabinets so his brother couldn't filch the bottles. It wasn't good for business and they weren't there for him to drink all evening.

 _Better than the cocaine._

Anything was better than the cocaine, even his brothers' stint at self medication was better than the drug. Arthur swore he was off the stuff. Tommy didn't have the time currently to believe or disbelieve him, but being a a betting man and an accurate judge of his brother's character, he doubted his brother was "off the stuff", as Arthur so bluntly put it.

"Pour me some of that will you?" John muttered from the other side of the table, inching his glass closer to the bottle. Arthur uncorked the bottle and poured the whisky into the glass all the way to the brim.

Michael sat on the edge of an armchair, fingers laced together, as if he were praying. An absorbed expression was on his face. Finn sat in the window ledge, legs outstretched, staring out into the night. He looked disheveled. Arthur had hauled him in from wandering the streets after stumbling home from the Garrison. If Churchill was going to pick anyone next, he'd search for the weak links, the ones that put themselves in jeopardy. Tommy couldn't have that.

Esme was putting the kids to bed. Tommy could hear her coaxing Katie to get under the covers a floor above. He expected her to come downstairs at any moment for the meeting. Esme wasn't one to play the mother and forego business. She wasn't like Martha. Soon enough, the woman was slipping into the room. Arthur grunted in acknowledgement. John wouldn't even look at her. Tommy gave her a curt nod as she sat in a chair against the wall.

Tommy cleared his throat. "Alright everyone, it's time we start."

"Polly's not back yet," Michael pointed out, glancing at Esme as she closed the door behind her.

 _She's been gone too long._

Normally, Tommy was perfectly fine with her coming and going at odd hours. That was just the way Polly was. She was quick to proclaim that she was an independent woman, but after what had happened with John, it was clear as day that they were all moving targets. By sheer luck, none of the children were home when the attack happened.

"Does anyone have any idea where she is?" Tommy asked.

Finn shrugged. Arthur did the same. John poured himself another glass of Scotch. Tommy glanced out the window. It was pitch black now, past midnight. If Polly didn't come back in the next five minutes he was going to send someone to her house to see if she had gone home instead. And if she wasn't at home then….

Right on cue, as if to spite his thoughts, Polly entered the room, probably drawn by the light shining under the door and the sound of voices at so late an hour.

"Christ Pol, talk about being late. Where were you?" Arthur asked. "Don't you know it's witching hour?"

"I've been out," Polly snapped. "And I'll have you know I don't have to explain my whereabouts to any of you." She paused, looking at them all for the first time. "Why is everyone moping about? Was there a funeral?"

Tommy could see the gears turning in her head as she searched their faces. Her own face was pale and drawn. Dark circles were under her eyes. They all must have looked more than a little grim.

"First thing's first, we need to talk about the fire." Tommy said, getting down to business.

"The fire?" Polly asked, startled. "What fire?" she closed the door quickly behind her.

"John's house was set on fire this afternoon," Tommy explained.

"Oh my God… Are the children safe?" Polly asked, looking at John with wide eyes.

 _No concern for Esme._

It wasn't a secret to anyone that Polly and Esme did not get along. Polly didn't get along with any woman. _Not Esme, not Grace, not Lizzie, not even Martha._

Tommy thought of May coming face to face with Polly for the first time, briefly wondering what that encounter would be like, before snapping back to the present.

"Sit down Pol, everyone's fine," John said. Polly swung around looking accusingly at Tommy, as if somehow this was his fault.

 _In a way it was._ He was standing in Churchill's path to Shelby Brothers Limited. He saw Polly's eyes swivel back to John and her mouth open slightly.

" I know who was behind it," he said, cutting off further questions from Polly who remained standing by the door. John didn't look like he wanted to go into details and Tommy did not blame him. The nanny was dead and the house was nothing but ash. He and his kids were homeless and he was married to an unfaithful woman.

They all looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to continue.

"There's a man who calls himself Churchill. I was introduced to him this morning and he made it very clear that he wants to take over our business. As you know, we get threats all the time, comes with the territory."

Arthur nodded emphatically. John turned and glared pointedly at Esme. No one had forgotten the stunt her family had pulled at the Garrison. Esme leaned against the wall, her arms crossed.

" However, this time it's different. Women and children were involved. They meant for there to be casualties."

 _There was no provocation._

With the Lees it was retaliation. The Peaky Blinders attacked them, so they would give them a taste of their medicine. There was a reason and Tommy had been able to make peace. Churchill had acted in cold blood. There was no eye for an eye. It was a downright attack, an attack that could potentially have gotten his brother and his niece and nephews killed. There would be no peace.

He looked over at John who was drinking more and more of the scotch and looking more glum by the minute.

"John and his family lost everything. They could have lost their lives."

"Tilda did," John said. His face darkened and his lips trembled. Tommy saw Esme's face whiten.

Silence fell over the room.

" But, you can stop him right?" Michael asked, looking at Tommy then at the others. Tommy heard the uncertainty in his voice. "I mean, he's just another mobster and you said you get threats all the time. Can't you stop him?"

"I will stop him," Tommy said, his voice firm.

 _I' will kill him. Don't you doubt that._

Doubt on their part was just as dangerous as Churchill's men. Tommy didn't doubt himself, but he could not afford his family to doubt him because it would lead to fear, and when people were afraid, they made themselves vulnerable.

"John, the kids, and Esme are staying here," he added. As for the rest of you, you'll need protection wherever you go."

He looked pointedly at Polly, who stared evenly back at him.

"Why isn't Ada here?" she demanded. "Surely she and Karl need protection as well." Once again she sounded as if she were blaming him.

 _She's scared._ Polly lashed out when she was angry or frightened. The reaction was the same no matter what the reason was, except when she was happy, but Polly was rarely, if ever happy. He couldn't say any of them were ever truly happy for an extended period of time.

 _Comes with the territory._

"I'll take care of Ada and Karl but you're right Pol. They'll need to be relocated. That house isn't safe…."

The telephone on the desk behind him started ringing. Tommy picked it up after the first ring.

"Shelby."

"Solomon's been hit." Tommy recognized the voice as belonging to one of his men on patrol in Camden Town.

 _That wasn't what I expected._

He thought back on his meeting with Churchill and his taunting questions.

 _"_ _I see the wheels spinning in your brain. You're asking yourself, who do I protect? Is he bluffing? Should I call in the Jewish baker with the hammer to pummel the bad man's face in?"_

"Is he dead?"

"No, he was wheeled off in a gurney. Still alive, but he was in bad shape, last I knew." Tommy heard sirens in the background. "I'm outside the hospital," the man explained. "Wanted to see if the bastard croaked. Guess he's steady now." He sounded disappointed.

Tommy spent a minute or so gathering information as to where Solomons was being held, instructed the man to call him again if reports came out that Solomons was dead, and hung up the phone.

"Alfie Solomons was attacked," he said, facing his family again, and thinking that if Solomons died, he would carry out a takeover of his own, possibly an expansion. The "bakery" would be of use to him.

"By God that's fantastic news!" Arthur crowed. He had every reason to despise the man who got him tossed into prison after shooting Billy Kitchen point blank in the head.

"He's still alive."

Arthur's face darkened.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled. He snatched the bottle away from John and poured himself another drink. Tommy changed subjects. Solomons wasn't his family's concern and was lower on his list of priorities at the moment.

"Churchill wants the family business and he wants to scare me into giving it right to him. He threatened to target us and judging from the fire, that's what he intended. He wants to scare us into handing everything over, but we aren't going to let him or give him any ground." He proceeded to provide the details of the fire, the explosives, the men in the car, how as he spoke his men were combing the streets for them.

He looked at each one of his family members' faces when he finished speaking, gauging their reaction. Michael seemed hesitant, uncertain. Polly looked skeptical. Arthur was the epitome of implicit trust. John looked as if he had faith in him, a begrudging faith, but faith nonetheless, and Finn looked satisfied. Esme's gaze was cool, expressionless.

"Would you care to explain how exactly you intend to do that?" Polly asked, the skepticism audible in her voice.

"All in good time Pol." He turned to Arthur. "Arthur, round up the boys. They need to hear what I just told you."

Arthur nodded and staggered to his feet, swaying slightly. The others began to stir. He could see his words were moving them into action.

"What can I do to help?" Michael piped up, unlacing his fingers and straightening his back as he lost the absorbed expression.

"Keep working on the books. Keep everything in order. John you can give him a hand after you help Arthur."

John nodded. Arthur clapped him on the back.

"Come on John, pull yourself together. We're going out." John stood up, scraping the chair behind him.

Maybe it was the war, but Tommy knew how to delegate tasks and get people moving. As a tunneler that's all he did, move forward. He didn't stop. He didn't get so caught up in his head that he didn't see what was right in front of him. Now was the time for action.

"I will let my family know as well," Esme said. Tommy nodded. Her connections were always useful. That was the reason why he made John marry her and why he continued to tolerate her presence.

"Tommy, let me help." Finn said, speaking for the first time. He hopped off the window ledge and strode over to the table, reaching for the bottle of Scotch.

"Absolutely not," Polly interjected, stepping further into the room and whisking the bottle out from under Arthur's red nose, and out of Finn's reach.

"You're not getting involved. In fact, you're going to stop running around these streets."

"Polly," Finn began, but Polly silenced him with a withering glare.

"Pol.. The bottle," Arthur said.

"You've had enough," she snapped. Her eyes softened somewhat when she looked at John who had hooked his thumbs in his pockets and was looking down at the table, biting his bottom lip.

"I'm sorry John."

John nodded.

They all filed out of the room. Only Polly remained. She looked at him, suspicion in her eyes.

"You don't have a plan do you."

"There are a few details I need to work out."

Why did she always doubt him?

"I'm assuming you didn't get married this morning," her voice was dry.

"Our nuptials were put on hold."

"Ah..Well, one less distraction for you then." She raised the bottle to her lips, never taking her dark accusatory eyes off him as she swallowed the last of the whisky.

 _Are you still upset with me about Michael?_

 _"_ I look forward to hearing your plan," she said before turning on her heel and walking out of the room. Tommy was surprised she hadn't pushed him further into divulging his plan. Tommy waited until her footsteps had receded down the hallway, before picking up the phone. He dialed Ada's number, disregarding the time. As expected no one answered. He dialed May's number and the result was the same. He knew it was late, but he also knew the two women stayed awake through the night hours.

 _They are also avoiding me._

He thought Ada had relented somewhat in her anger towards him when he had given her that letter, but apparently their relationship wasn't mended. He hadn't seen head nor tail of her since the races and May….

 _May will come around._ That's what he kept telling himself.

So would Ada. Under normal circumstances, he'd wait it out with Ada, let her have her way, but not when someone was after her and Karl. As for May, Churchill didn't know she was connected with him so it was probably best to give her space until Churchill was dead. Churchill wanted his loved ones so he could use them to twist his arm into handing over the company. Tommy wasn't going to give him that power.

No one mentioned May. No one knew he was going to the court-house to marry May. He wasn't followed to her home. He had made sure of it. Now he had to make sure he kept his family and his business safe, and that all the pieces of his plan ultimately resulted in Churchill's swift death.


	12. Lizzie

"John! I came as soon as I heard. Everyone's been talking about the fire…. Please tell me everyone's alright."

Lizzie entered the hallway in a panicked whirlwind that nearly knocked John off his feet. He had just reached for his cap and coat on the hook, preparing to head to the Peaky Blinder's stomping grounds to rally up the boys. Arthur, in a fiery burst of enthusiasm and family loyalty, was already out the door, lurching forward. John knew he had to catch up with him quickly, make sure he didn't hurt himself.

"Everyone's fine. We're safe," John said, stumbling backwards as she flung her arms around him in a smothering hug and practically fell into him as she buried her head in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm just… so glad you're safe." She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him with tear filled eyes.

 _She always looks so sad._

He didn't want her to be sad. He wanted to make her smile. He used to be able to, when they were going steady and he planned to marry her. In fact, he hadn't been this close to her since the races, and even then they weren't _THIS_ close.

 _Then Tommy decided to play games and make her sell herself._

John knew she was a prostitute. He wasn't naive, but he knew she'd been trying to quit and Tommy had dragged her back down into it, saying it was for the business. John wouldn't forgive him for that.

"It's fine, Lizzie." He raised his hand on an impulse, was about to cup her face with it, then awkwardly patted her back instead. He saw a red flush creep up from the base of her neck to her cheeks. John felt his own face grow warm. It was awkward because of what they once were to each other, because of Esme, and because of all the silent promises he had made to Lizzie in his mind. Now that she was here and he was holding her… it made all those promises seem very real, so real he could reach out and touch them.

 _Kiss her._

The impulse popped into his head. It would have been easy to give into that impulse in an instant, if he hadn't thought of Esme and the kids, and his family, the fire, and Arthur who was now hollering outside for him to hurry up.

"I've got to go… business," he said, clearing his throat, trying to form a coherent sentence.

"Oh." She nodded and pulled back.

"It's good to see you," he blurted out. She nodded and lowered her eyes down to the floor. He felt like a fool and a brute, being so callous. He couldn't leave her like that.

So he kissed her gently on the cheek. Her eyes flew to his face, startled. Her lips parted and she looked questioningly at him. Her face reddened even more and in that moment with her eyes shining and her face a light shade of pink, she looked beautiful.

"You're staying here, It's not safe out there."

"John… What exactly…"

" You're staying here," John repeated, cutting her off because he did not want to explain to her the trouble his family was in.

"The kids'll like that." He rubbed her arms. " Sound like a plan yeah?" He said a few more words, not quite sure what he was trying to convey as he continued to think about kissing her on her lips and running his hands through her hair, like he used to.

"My things," she protested, looking towards the door.

"No Lizzie," he said. "None of it's important."

There was a pause as their eyes remained locked on each other.

 _I should have married you._

"JOHN!"

John was jolted back to the present by Arthur's booming voice.

"Coming!" he hollered. He turned back to Lizzie, this time cupping her chin in his hand. "I've got to go," he said, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear. "I'll be back and I'll explain everything. Just stay here and I'll be back before you know it."

"John, you're scaring me."

"I'll be back," he said before stepping away from her. She held onto his arm.

"Lizzie, I've got to…"

The words died on his lips as she kissed him on the mouth with an intensity that shocked him. They stood there for what seemed like a blink of an eye to John as she broke away from him, looking horrified.

"John, I'm sorry… You're a married man.."

"You tramp!"

John swung around to see Esme, eyes burning, nostrils flared, looking completely livid. Lizzie shrank away from him.

"Don't you talk to her like that!" John said, collecting himself and defending Lizzie who looked like she was about to cry again.

"You just had to throw yourself at him… he's MY husband. You're disgusting."

"You're one to talk," John interjected, moving in front of Lizzie as Esme closed the space between them.

"John, I'm your wife."

"God Esme, you're a bloody hypocrite," he turned away from her and looked at Lizzie.

"Lizzie, find a guest room."

"She can't stay here," Esme protested.

"This isn't your house," John retorted. "Anyone who is family can stay, and Lizzie's family."

"Your precious Lizzie's set on destroying our marriage."

John stared at her. Where was this coming from? Since when did she care about their marriage?

 _She doesn't. She's just jealous._ She wanted to sink her claws into him as well as any other man she took a fancy to and she would only let them go on her terms.

Esme moved closer to them, eyes blazing as she moved closer into John's personal space.

"You're a filthy whore," she spat, glaring at Lizzie, who cringed at the words. John struck her without thinking. The slap resounded the room and he came back to himself and realized what he'd done.

"You don't get to speak to her like that, you hear me? You don't have any right," his voice was shaking. He didn't beat women. He didn't beat his wife. She was still his wife by law. Yet he couldn't let her speak that way to Lizzie. He was the one who had kissed her first. She hadn't thrown herself at him and she had looked incredibly guilty.

Esme raised a hand to her cheek, a mortified expression crossing her face, before she turned and walked briskly down the hall.

"Esme," he called.

"I should go," Lizzie muttered, looking away from him.

"No, I meant what I said. I'm sorry…"

"You should be apologizing to your wife, John."

"Just… just stay here. You don't have to see her. There're rooms everywhere. Just…. Stay please."

He pleaded with her. Reluctantly, she agreed.

He put his hand on the doorknob and paused, looking back at her.

"Lizzie, you know me.. I'm not like that." He wasn't a brute. He wasn't perfect, He wasn't a saint, and every once in a while he got his hands dirty for the business, but he wasn't an animal.

"I know, John," she said, her voice low before she turned away from him.

John opened the door and was met by a red faced Arthur on the doorstep.

"What the hell are you doing?"

John pushed past him, feeling rotten to the core as he forced himself to think about business and not the problem he had just created for himself.


	13. Visitors

The first thing Alfie saw when he cracked open his swollen eyelids was Tommy Shelby. The little man was practically towering over him as he lay in a bed that was as hard as a plank and too short. Alfie could see his feet were dangling over the edge of the bed. He smelled smoke and for a brief terrifying moment that made his heart feel as if it were going to burst out of his chest, Alfie thought he was being burned alive. He quickly collected himself when he realized he was in a hospital and remembered Tommy Shelby liked to have a smoke. He also realized he was in a private room.

 _Give my regards to Thomas Shelby._

Alfie closed his eyes then opened them again, hoping he was hallucinating his rival's presence as he tried to calm himself down. He did not want to see Shelby's reptilian face first thing in the…. What time was it now?

 _Damn it. He's still here._

This was the last place he wanted to see Shelby. To tell the truth, the situation he was in was beyond humiliating. It was absolutely degrading.

"What time is it?" he asked, turning to look out the grimy window and seeing that a sliver of the sky was a faint pink. His head was pounding and his back was killing him.

"Dawn."

"Lovely. I always did love sunrises. So easy to miss." His throat was parched and the words had difficult forming on his chapped lips. He knew it wasn't necessary to talk, but he didn't want to look as disoriented and confused as he felt. Blurred images and sensations passed through his mind and through his body followed by sharp agonizing bouts of pain.

 _I could use a drink._

" Just as it was so easy for you to miss that you were in danger."

Alfie couldn't tell if he was being smug or just downright blunt.

 _Probably both._

In any case, he wasn't being sympathetic.

"Did you come here to gloat? Kick a man while he's down Shelby? If I recall," he said wincing. "I showed a bit more courtesy to you."

"You pointed a gun in my face."

"AND I gave you a handkerchief. You had a bit of a nose-bleed if I recall correctly."

"I'm not here to rehash the past Solomons. We have a problem."

"You mean, YOU have a problem. I'm the collateral of a bloody Scott. You're the one he's after." A dull rage began to rise inside him as he remembered being shoved against that wall, feeling like his nose was about to be smashed into a pulp and that all the blood was going to drain out of his body. It was a miracle that he hadn't bled out completely. He remembered Ada pressing her white coat against his back. An image of her, illuminated by white lights flashed in front of his eyes. He shook his head, blinking to clear his vision.

"His name's Kincaid," Tommy said, clearly pretending he hadn't noticed his disorientation. "The knife he stuck in your back was a knife that he bought at a local butcher-shop. I had my men investigate him."

 _And I'm going to kill him… slowly. Unless… he's already dead._

He looked sharply at Tommy, wondering why the man was even bothering to visit him. They weren't what he would consider friends.

" So… you and your little toadies offed him already and came here to bring me the good news."

"He's not the problem," Tommy said. "He's under the employment of a man named Churchill.'

That floored Alfie. Had he heard that correctly?

"You're telling me, that the Prime Minister of England, sent a Scott to do me in?"

 _Burn me alive and gut me in an alley?_

"It's an alias."

"You'd bloody well hope so, otherwise Parliament's got a lot of explaining to do."

"I see you haven't lost your sense of humor."

"And I see you're still as dull as ditchwater. Get me a drink will you?" he barked, glancing at the pitcher of water by his bedside out of his reach as his entire body throbbed with pain. His face felt stiff. He was sure it was swelled up like a goddamn melon and his nose was a smaller mellon on top of that. He could barely open his eyes. He glanced over at the pitcher.

 _What's the point of putting it somewhere I can't reach?_

Tommy walked over to the bed-stand and poured the water into a cup. He handed it wordlessly to Alfie, who grabbed it and downed the contents in one gulp.

So… the Scott's working for this Churchill. I'm guessing he wants you dead and your business all for himself. " He bit down on his tongue as pain shot through his back. It was getting worse.

 _Where's the nurse?_ He clearly wasn't medicated enough if he was cracking jokes with Tommy Shelby and feeling every stabbing pain throughout his body.

"You're very sharp this morning."

"What do you want Shelby?" He wasn't in the mood for games. What he did want was morphine. Once Shelby left he was going to get that nurse to give him some.

"I have men posted around the hospital, keeping an eye on you."

"What do you want?"

"Your men, your connections. Seeing as you're going to be here for a while, I need access to your resources."

 _Strange, Tommy Shelby's asking for my permission. How polite._

Well, I'm touched by your concern Shelby, but you underestimate me. I'm getting out of this bed today."

Tommy crossed his arms, not even bothering to hide his skepticism. Alfie knew it was a bluff that wasn't even worth being called out on, but he didn't like the idea one bit that he was here, racked with pain, while his business was left in the hands of his employees.

"Not according to your nurses. You need to be monitored."

A knock on the door made Alfie start, which was highly unusual.

 _Jittery. I'm goddamned jittery._ Alfie saw that his hand was shaking. He set the cup down on the edge of the bed.

" I didn't mean to interrupt you two love-birds, but it's time to talk business." A dark haired man who strongly resembled a weasel or creature of the rodent variety, entered the room and trained his eyes on Alfie. Alfie was instantly on his guard.

 _Who the hell are you?_

Crisp white shirt, suit jacket. Looked like a politician. Alfie bit down on his tongue, bracing himself as he tried to move into a sitting position.

"Please, please don't strain yourself," the man said in a syrupy voice laced with condescension. Even bedridden and in pain, Alfie wasn't a fool. He knew when he was being talked down to.

" Doesn't he look dreadful? The man asked, turning to Thomas as if he weren't in the room. "Kincaid tends to have that affect on people. It's nothing personal Alfie. I needed to acquire Thomas's attention."

 _So you're Churchill._

"You have a strange way of doing it," Tommy said coolly. Alfie grudgingly agreed with him on that. There was no love between him and Thomas Shelby, so to target him made no sense whatsoever. He could also see that the weasel in the suit was ruffling Shelby's feathers.

A smirk pulled on Churchill's lips.

"You know, the two of you have a lot more in common than you think. When it comes down to it, I think you are two sides of the same coin, wouldn't you agree, Thomas?"

"You're a dead man," Alfie said, training his eyes on the man's face. "Mark my words, you're dead. DEAD. YOU HEAR ME!"

The man didn't even flinch and that infuriated Alfie to no end. He wanted to throttle him. He wanted to lunge out of this bed and smash the man's head against the wall. He clenched his battered fists together, gritting his teeth in pain.

"We should let Mr. Solomons rest. If I could have a word,Thomas?"

Alfie met Tommy's eyes before they swiveled to Churchill's face, studying, evaluating,

 _Sizing him up._

More pain racked his body and it took all of his self control not to scream. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, drip down his face. He could hear moans and screams down the hall.

 _I hate hospitals._ He'd never been in one, except maybe once and that was when he was born. This… this was lunacy… Goddamn…

"Get the hell out!" he screamed at Churchill, unable to hold back anymore. He wanted that man gone. He wanted Shelby gone and most of all he wanted some goddamn morphine.

"NURSE!"


	14. Confrontation

"He's peaked. Seeing someone reduced to such a low state reminds me of how thankful I am to be in good health."

Tommy was not in the mood for verbal fencing. He grabbed Churchill by the front of his coat and backed him into a corner against a white- washed wall.

"Shut up and tell me how you got in here."

"Careful Thomas, you wouldn't want to alarm the staff." Tommy let go of the man's collar and flattened the lapels of his coat down, resisting the urge to strangle him in public.

"You're not the only one with people watching," Churchill replied, a smug smirk on his face. "Your men took a little lunch break, leaving me free access to the building. Sloppy, Thomas. Fortunately for you, I don't need Alfie Solomons dead to proceed with your company takeover."

"There will be no takeover."

"Don't be obtuse. It's already started. You received my messages, now it's time to negotiate."

Tommy got very close into Churchill's personal space, staring into the depths of his eyes.

"The only thing you are going to negotiate is how quick your death is going to be."

"I'm chilled to the bone. That draft…"

"You can go after Solomons, you can go after my men, but when you go after my brother, my niece and nephews, my family… you guarantee that you are going to die."

"I'd best be careful then," Churchill replied glibly, before slinking out of Tommy's grasp and heading towards the front of the hospital. He paused, then turned to look back at him.

I should warn you though, nothing is ever guaranteed. Take care, Thomas. And thank you for confirming your achilles heel."

Tommy watched him turn. He waited until he had disappeared from view then reentered Solmons' room. The mobster was in bad shape. Tommy didn't have to look too long to see that. Pale, bloodless, eyes glazing over; Solomons wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. There was the chance his wounds would get infected and he'd die.

"You're like a goddamned vulture waiting for me to kick the bucket."

Tommy said nothing.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere. This isn't a corpse," he said, gesturing up and down at his prostrate and bandaged body. " You're not going anywhere either… but that… he wagged a finger at the door, that fellow's a dead man eh?" The baker's lips twisted into a hideous excuse for a grin that looked like a snarl.

"You kill that bastard," Solomons said. "You kill him with my blessing and my men and you kill him fast," he paused, his face whitening. His hands flew to his back and he began shrieking for morphine. Tommy left him then. He had gotten everything he needed. He was beginning to think that Churchill wasn't what he seemed. Tommy thought for a split-second that the man had shown a trace of fear when he grabbed his coat. Perhaps he was horrified at the thought that a tinker was soiling his expensive article of clothing, or….

 _He's nothing but talk._

It wasn't safe for Tommy to make that assumption. Churchill could be using that as a card up his sleeve, get Tommy to underestimate him as he planned another attack on a member of his family or something more sinister.

 _I've got to see Ada._

The sun had barely risen. He would swing by her place, pick her and Karl up, and bring Ada up to speed. Check on the boys. Check on John and Arthur.

 _Stay away from Lizzie._

Tommy had overheard the argument between Lizzie, John, and Esme, and had decided to play no part in it and attend to business. John was already upset with him about Lizzie at the races.

 _And he has a right to be._

He had used Lizzie.

 _For the greater good._

Not much good had come of it. They'd won Epson, but now he had a man with thugs at his disposal committing arson and terrorizing his family.

 _And my enemies._

As if to prove a point as to how powerful he was, Churchill had gone after a seemingly untouchable Alfie Solomons.

Tommy scanned his surroundings on his way out of the hospital, marveling at how lax security was. People could come and go as they pleased. He made it to his car parked down the street without being accosted by Churchill's men. He was about to start it when he saw Finn running towards him, waving a piece of paper in his hand.

"Finn, what are you doing here?" Tommy asked, looking around in the gloom. "You can't.."

"Tommy," Finn said breathless. "I've got a message for you… from May. She's in some kind of trouble,Tommy."

Tommy snatched the paper out of his brother's hand, when he had reached him, and opened the passenger door. Finn climbed in. Tommy climbed into the driver's seat. He scanned the contents of the letter. It was May's handwriting. He looked back at his brother.

"Who gave this to you."

"She did," Finn said. She told me to find you because she needs help. She said she couldn't see you herself."

"When was this? Where was she? Tell me everything, Finn."

Finn rattled off the address of some street corner not far from their house. Finn must have snuck out in the early hours, disregarding Pol's orders.

"She looked scared Tommy."

Tommy turned the key in the ignition, his thoughts whirling. His initial impression was that this was a set-up, a trap, but if Finn had seen May and she had physically handed his brother the letter….

 _Thomas,_

 _I'm being watched. Man called Kincaid told me not to contact you. Threatened my life and yours. I broke the rules. I don't know how much time I have before he realizes what I've done and comes after me. Had to warn you somehow. He and his men have been watching the house._

The writing was rushed, nearly illegible scribbles, which was not characteristic of May. Finn told her she had written the letter on the spot and shoved it into his hand. Why would she risk it, reaching out to him? And then it dawned on him what her reasoning was.

She was trying to draw them out, instigate an attack, and she wanted his help. She wasn't playing it safe. She wanted to spark a chain of events to put a stop to the threats. It was a risk and she was leaving herself vulnerable. It would also be perceived as foolish by anyone who had observed her.

 _She wanted to look scared._

May wasn't one to visibly express how she was feeling. When he first met her, she was extraordinarily difficult to read. The fear was meant to convince Kincaid that she was terrified and acting irrationally. She knew that he would leap on the opportunity to put Thomas Shelby at a disadvantage.

Regardless, he had to act quickly.

"What are you going to do, Tommy?" Finn asked, drawing Tommy out of his thoughts. Tommy looked at his brother.

"Finn, I've got a job for you."

There wasn't much time if he planned on getting to May in time. He also couldn't forget Ada and Karl and leave them defenseless. As he drove, he explained the plan to Finn.


	15. A Welcome Visitor

The morphine had finally done the trick. A comfortable numbness settled over his body, something akin to peace along with the sensation as if he were floating.

"Is he awake?" a hushed voice said close by. Alfie's ears perked. He knew who that was and thankfully, it wasn't Thomas Shelby or the weasel from earlier. It was a woman.

"He's been in and out. He had visitors this morning and he's been sleeping since," the nurse said. "I can check now."

"I'm up," Alfie growled. He cracked an eye open and saw her, dressed in conservative dark clothes with her hair pinned back, which made her features look sharp and stern. Alfie didn't care. Ada was the most welcome sight he'd seen since his hospitalization, even more welcome than the nurse with the syringe filled with morphine.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes." His words slurred as he tried to move his lips.

 _Damn morphine. Making me look like a slobbering idiot._

She smiled, her face softening and looking less severe, but the smile looked sad. She reached for his hand, sliding hers into his, which lay limp against the bed covers. She sat down in a chair by the bed, still holding his hand.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you."

He was sorry she'd been there that night, witnessing him getting blood everywhere, ruining her clothes and her night out.

"Nothing anyone can do now."

"Yes there is," she said, squeezing his hand and looking straight into his swollen and battered face. "You can get better."

"Can't get any worse than I already am," Alfie said as nonchalantly as he could. He didn't want any pity or her worrying. " He changed subjects. "How's the little chap?"

"He's at school. She hesitated before saying, "He's fine."

 _Must've scared the little lad to death seeing his mother coming home late covered in blood._ Hopefully she'd had time to change out of that bloodstained dress and tell the chap a story before bed. There was a pause.

"It's been… difficult for him," she said, clearing her throat. "His father passed and he's terrified of being alone… I felt awful, leaving him. He was with a sitter of course, but it was selfish of me."

"It was selfish of me to keep you from going home," he said, not liking the guilt on her face.

He wished he had a mother growing up who gave a damn about leaving her half dozen boys home alone for days on end doing the lord only knew what. His old man was more of the motherly type, but he had a business to run and he couldn't be home all the time. In the early days of building his career, he couldn't afford a sitter and if he could, he wouldn't trust one. The woman could be a plant, an enemy spy. Old man Solomons was as paranoid as they came. He'd get his most trusted men to hang around the house, which at the time was a ramshackle structure, and watch the boys running like hooligans around the house. Alfie learned a lot from those cigar smoking, drinking, rough talking men who swapped stories and played cards at the worm eaten kitchen table. He had stopped the childish games with his younger brothers and sat down to listen and learn as the oldest member of the Solomons clan. Those were the early days.

Alfie couldn't say he felt nostalgic right then and there. Especially since most of his brothers' lives had been short lived, ended in ruin if they lived to adulthood, or carried on in miserable poverty and squalor in some forgotten part of the country, thanks to dear old mum and dad. He was the lucky one, getting his foot in the door to the family business, gaining popularity with the men, and getting his old man's signature on the will signing his now established empire over to his oldest son.

"Those bastards are going to pay for what they did to you," Ada was saying, drawing him back into the present. "The police will catch them and they'll hang." Thankfully she didn't press him for details about that night. He had a vague recollection that he'd told her he didn't know who his attackers were. There was nothing on that front for her to ask.

He saw the sudden fury blazing in her eyes. He found it refreshing, but he had a hunch Shelby would get to the Scott long before law enforcement started sniffing around. Besides, no self respecting officer of the law would go out on a limb to aid the mobster, Alfie Solomons.

"That's a nice thought," he said, studying her face. She was watching him intently. Alfie couldn't quite interpret what her expression was.

"It's going to happen," she said, determination in her voice. "They will pay and you will get better." She gripped his hand in her own tightly for one final squeeze. He assumed that she was about to leave because he saw the nurse hovering in the doorway again with a tray of some godawful excuse for food and a cup of pills. Ada had seen her too.

"You're going to get through this." She slid her hand out of his own and kissed him quickly on the cheek, so quickly that Alfie was too surprised to process it immediately. She turned hurriedly away from him.

"Next time, I'll bring Karl around after school," she said, almost flippantly, but Alfie saw her face turn a slight shade of pink.

"I'm looking forward to it," he said, as she adjusted her purse on her arm. She glanced quickly at him and he saw a shy smile flicker across her face as it turned a more noticeable shade of pink. Alfie pretended he hadn't noticed, and tried his best not to smile.

"I'll be seeing you then, alright. Promise?" He couldn't help smiling then, even though the pain was creeping up on him again.

"I promise. Goodbye Alfie." She turned and walked quickly out of the room, leaving Alfie in much better spirits than he thought was possible.


	16. A Message

Finn slipped under his partially open bedroom window and out into the predawn darkness. Pol could rant and go at him all she wanted until she turned blue, but he wasn't going to stay cooped up in the house. Tommy took care of their problems before, he'd do it again. Carefully, he closed the window behind him and landed cat-like on his feet on the pavement below. He looked left to right, then began staying close to the wall and away from the windows.

Lately, he'd been feeling blue, not just because of the fire and the new threat, but because he felt forgotten. He didn't need attention, God knew how Pol would go at him, but he was feeling a little out of the loop, unimportant, while Michael was becoming Tommy's right hand man. Tommy and Michael, talking about business over drinks, or Tommy and Arthur, or Tommy and John. Pretty much everyone but him seemed like more of a brother. Pol wouldn't let him near the alcohol and the others still treated him like a kid. All he wanted was a piece of the action, to be useful since he was a Shelby man after all.

"Finn?"

A woman, pale and frightened, looked back over her should before she approached him, holding something in her hand.

"How do you know my name?" He was instantly on his guard.

"There's no time for questions," she said, not answering the question. "Give this to Tommy as soon as you can. It's of the utmost importance that you do this for me. My life depends on it."

Finn heard the urgency in her voice and saw the fear in her eyes, which looked very real. She looked over her should again before slipping the paper towards him. "I have to go, now. Give this to Tommy."

 _You're Tommy's girl, the one he was going to marry,_ he wanted to say but she didn't look like she was in the mood for any more conversation. He nodded, tucking the envelope into his hand.

"I will mam."

"May," she said. "Now, hurry!"

Finn nodded vigorously and she turned and slunk around and disappeared behind a corner. Here was his moment. Here he would finally get to do something to make Tommy proud, help everyone, saving Tommy's girl would be a step towards becoming a Peaky Blinder.

He knew where Tommy was. One skill that came in handy was listening to peoples' conversations undetected. He'd heard Tommy talking about paying a visit to that lunatic mobster in the hospital and he knew exactly where the nearest hospital was. He increased his pace to a run, changed directions, and headed down the street, street-lights guiding him.


	17. The Reunion

"Damn kids." Kincaid's voice wafted through the partially open door. May heard another expletive and his heavy boots thudding on the wooden floor, back to her study, which wasn't far from the front door. A group of boys, had rung the doorbell and bolted, distracting Kincaid enough so that she could slip into the room, and get into position. Kincaid knew she'd contacted Shelby. May glanced out the window, seeing the boys scatter. One of them, Finn, turned and looked at her, the only signal he could give. May turned back to face the door, bracing herself.

The doorknob turned and swung forward. Kincaid stood in the doorway, thumbs in the loops of his belt. He looked at her and gave a great huffing sigh, shaking his head in disapproval. May stood behind her desk, her desk drawer partially open as she held the revolver she kept locked in her desk drawer, in the palm of her hand.

"What am I going to do with you, May?"

If he took one more step towards her she would shoot him.

 _I will._ Her nerves were steady now, not quite steel, but steady. Hopefully steady would be enough.

Loud popping noises erupted at the front of the house. Kincaid didn't turn. He was watching her intently.

"Fire-crackers, Kincaid," one of the men bellowed.

"The little pranksters," Kincaid hollered, faking a laugh, but his eyes were cold. "Now then, what are we going to do with you, May? What do we do with people who break the rules?"

"They placed them all over the property, sir!"

Kincaid's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Never would've guessed putting sparklers around a great big house was fun for them," he muttered. "Alright, go clear them out!"

"Out by the stables too, the horse's… they're screeching like banshees!"

That worried May. The sounds and smoke would frighten them and the barn…

 _Focus._

"Deal with it!" Kincaid called.

"Lousy kids. Never had any, never want to."

 _You never will._

A different kind of popping noises erupted, followed by screams and something thudding down the steps.

"Mrs. Carleton, are you alright? More gunshots. Her staff had been preparing for weeks.

"The cavalry's arrived."

Her eyes traveled to Kincaid's hands in his belt-loops. She knew he was armed.

"Better make this quick then." He pulled the pistol out of his back-pocket in one swift movement. May, whose reaction time had never been slow, raised hers simultaneously without even blinking, both hands wrapped around the trigger, pointed straight at his head.

"Guess we're at an impass," Kincaid said, his voice flat and his eyes narrowed.

"Not quite."

Kincaid turned at the sound of Thomas's voice and May pulled the trigger. Kincaid's body staggered backwards, the top of his skull missing, as blood sprayed onto the walls. His body fell with a thud. May lowered the gun, slowly.

Tommy sidestepped the body and made his way straight towards her. May placed the gun on the desk.

"Are you alright. Did he hurt you?"

"No.. No I'm fine…"

Her ears were ringing from the blast. She looked out at the open doorway and saw blood. Blood was all over the floor along with what had once been the top of Kincaid's skull. May felt sick to her stomach and looked away.

"Come on," He pulled him close to her and led her out of the room.

"The sparklers were a diversion," he explained, holding her close as they walked down the hall.

"Ms. Carleton," voices chimed, rushing towards her.

"No one's injured," Tommy said, warding them off as he led her outside into the bright sunshine. They walked towards the training pens, away from the carnage. They stopped and May looked up. She saw smoke rising from the stables.

"The horses…"

"They're alright," Tommy said, turning her to face him.

"You alright?" He looked directly at her rubbing her shoulders, concern in his blue eyes. She nodded.

"I didn't think you were going to make it in time," she said, and it was the honest truth.

"We cut it a little close," Tommy said, looking guilty. The plan was a little last-minute, and improv, considering she had no idea what they were going to do to distract the men, but it had worked.

"Just a little," she replied. They stood there, looking at each other and she realized how happy she was to see him.

"Tommy… I…" she began, her voice shaking.

"Oy Tommy! Churchill's made a run for it!"

She saw Thomas' face change, saw the concern replaced with stone cold determination. She could almost see the gears turning in his brain.

"Alright now. May you need to listen to me, the boys and I, we've got one more job to do and this'll all be over. I'll leave some of the men for clean-up. Get your people together and I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll be here," she said, wishing he didn't have to leave again, but realizing even in her shell-shocked state that he needed to leave and now wasn't the time to play helpless damsel in distress.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her full on the mouth. It was too short, as he broke away, but it still left her breathless.

"That's why I love you," he said, kissing her once more on the top of her head before turning to call orders to his men across the lawn. " Aldridge! Roberts! Study! Now! Clean that mess up you hear? Help Mrs. Carleton and her people while we're gone!"

"Right sir!" They called dutifully back.

Tommy turned back to her again.

"I love you," she managed to say and it was relief to say the words, to finally show him that she wasn't upset anymore.

"I'll be back," he said before turning and walking swiftly to his car. Like a phalanx of birds following their leader, his men in coats and caps followed him. May watched them get into their cars and speed away.


	18. The Chase

They walked in a straight line down the street, completely in-step. John and a few others stayed back with the cars parked along the road. They walked in one cohesive movement. It was more of a march, a procession, like a well oiled machine. The Peaky Blinders were going to work.

"You're sure?" Tommy was asking as they rounded a corner.

"Yep," his man confirmed it. " Solomons' men saw him wave down a car. He bought a train ticket. He's trying to give us the slip. We didn't get all off Kincaid's goons so one of em must've given him the heads up."

"Not enough time," Tommy replied, shaking his head. There wouldn't have been enough time for any of Kincaid's men to get to the hotel where Churchill was staying and they wouldn't be stopping to make a telephone call until they were far from the Peaky Blinders who were picking them off in the alleys. No…. This was premeditated.

 _"_ _Guess he was all talk."_

"Damn yellow bellied bastard," Arthur spat to his left.

That was Tommy's thought exactly. They were close to the train station. When the'd reached the outskirts of the station, Tommy stopped them to go over the plan one more time.

"Alright everyone you know what to do, spread out, get to the tracks. Find his seat and don't let him get off that train. If he steps off the platform and starts running we can't chase him down because of the coppers. Keep your weapons at your sides at all times. Nothing will land you in jail faster than drawing a pistol in a train."

They began to move again. People quailed and jumped out of their way as the Peaky Blinders strode towards the platforms. Some of the men went ahead to interrogate the people at the ticket booths.

"Platform number." Tommy asked as they returned to him.

"Fifteen."

They boarded the train.

"We're lookin for a Mr. Churchill," Arthur bellowed, first in line, pushing past the conductor. "Churchill!" he called. The passengers looked at him with wide eyes, mostly women and children. Arthur could be a little off-putting. However, only one person had anything to worry about today.

"Not the bloody Prime Minister! For Christ's sakes.. Move all of you!" Arthur and the muscle moved down the line, scanning the seats. Tommy saw him in the back, hat over his eyes and a paper right up to his hawk nose, but Tommy recognized the coat.

 _Big mistake._

"We got im Tommy, we got im!" Arthur crowed, lifting a visibly shaking Churchill up by the front of his coat and dragging him into the aisle."

The police came in then, ready for a scuffle. That was why Tommy stayed in the back of the line towards the conductor in the front. His reputation's reach extended far past Birmingham. All he needed to do, was be rational. The cops stopped in front of him, clubs at the ready.

Tommy put his hands up.

"Good evening gentlemen."

"These men just barged onto my train," the conductor said, looking pleadingly at the police.

"My apologies officers. Ladies, gentlemen," he addressed the passengers. "There's no need to charge us for assault. It's very important that we have a conversation with a Mr. Churchill and this train was just about to set off before we could do that."

Tommy recognized the cop behind who he assumed was the captain, a bought cop. Tommy wasn't a fool though. He wasn't going to pay the cop with witnesses present, but the man's words would count for something.

"Captain, that's Thomas Shelby. He's a war-hero," the bought cop said. There was a tense moment of silence before the captain gave a curt nod.

"Let Mr. Shelby have his chat," the man said in resignation. Tommy saw the reluctance in his face. "Back to work. No trouble here." The men in blue filed out of the train.

"Again, my apologies," Tommy said. "Good day to you sir," he said, nodding at the conducto. As he walked down the aisle he saw a woman holding a surprisingly quiet baby in her lap. They made eye contact for one brief moment before she looked quickly away in fear. He thought of Grace. The Peaky Blinders filed out of the train, Churchill sandwiched between two men.

Churchill was visibly shaking as they shoved him off of the train and escorted him forcibly away from the train-station.

"Any last words, Mr. Churchill?" Arthur sneered as they rounded the corner, away from the prying eyes of cops.

"Please… Churchill began begging. "Please, I wasn't going to do anything. This all went to far…"

"Aw shut up will ya?" Arthur cut him off by slapping masking tape over his mouth and a sack over his head. The cars were waiting not far from the station. The two men holding Churchill stuffed him into one of the cars. The others separated and Tommy and Arthur climbed into the car John was driving. They drove in silence to the shipyard. They all reached the agreed to place, parked, and walked to the pier. Tommy took the bag off of Churchill's head and ripped the masking tape off his mouth. Churchill immediately began talking again as they dragged him over to the water.

"Thomas…." "Thomas," he blubbered. "Thomas, you're a reasonable man. I'm not a threat to you. This is all one big… Let me tell you who I really am.. My name's not Churchill. It's…."

One shot to the forehead and it was over. John's face was filled with rage as he fired the gun, which was now smoking. Churchill's body thudded to the ground. John fired another shot at the body.

"John," Tommy said and John dropped the gun, turned, and stalked back to the car, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and looking as if he were about to be sick.

 _We should have let him talk first._

He had been curious as to what the man's name was, but the deed was done and there was no going back. Tommy bent and picked up the gun.

"Alright boys, you know what to do with the body."

He turned and walked back to the car. Arthur followed behind him. He reached the car first and climbed into the back-seat. John sat at the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes staring into nothing. Tommy got into the passenger seat and looked over at John whose face began to quiver.

"Tilly, and the house, and the kids…." He was trying to explain. He'd never killed a man before and his nerves were shaken. Tommy couldn't remember how that felt, not after the war.

"John," Tommy said as he saw his brother start to break. He put a hand on John's shoulder.

"What?" John cried, giving a start and looking at him with wide eyes.

"I'm driving," he said, nodding at the wheel.

"Oh," John nodded, taking his hands off the steering wheel and opening the car door. Tommy walked over to the driver's side, John slid over to the passenger side, and Tommy took the wheel. No one spoke the entire drive home, not even Arthur, who usually had something to say.

Tommy looked out the window, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

It was finally over.


	19. A Revelation

"And that's that eh?" Alfie said, listening to Shelby recount the events. "All neat and tidy?" Alfie could't help but feel a bit skeptical. Shelby was too nonchalant.

"All neat and tidy," Tommy replied coolly. Alfie sat up in bed.

 _Little snake is probably planning his next move to overthrow me._

"No disrespect, but it all sounds a little too neat."

Anti-climactic. Except for the juicy bits with the Scott getting his brain splattered all over the floor, the story was dull. However, Alfie wished he could have seen that justice dealt out to the Scott.

"Just take a victory Solomons."

Alfie wagged a finger at him. "Now don't start giving me orders Shelby. You got rid of a problem that affected us both. Don't push your luck."

"I'll take that as a thank you."

Shelby's serpentine eyes slid down to his watch.

"Well, I have a wedding to attend."

"Right right… the wedding. Give the bride my regards. A warrior's salute in fact."

That Carleton woman sounded like a real pistol, cold-blooded like Shelby himself, probably was what drew him to her, that and her money.

 _The gold digger._

"I expect I'll be hearing from you in the future," Tommy said, ignoring his well-wishes. He turned and began walking towards the door. _Rude as usual._

"Consider this an on hold-situation Shelby. We're on holiday!" he shouted as Tommy put his hand on the doorknob. Shelby, his back turned, raised his hand as if waving him away before stepping out of the room.

 _Bloody Gypsy._

"Time for your morphine, Mr. Solomons," the nurse said as soon as Tommy disappeared. Alfie gave her a menacing look. He had a hunch everyone preferred him to be unconscious so they wouldn't have to hear him shout his demands. Here he was, cooped up in this hospital in a bed that was growing more uncomfortable by the minute, and Shelby was out there planning on happily married bliss. It absolutely made his blood boil.

"WHEN THE HELL AM I GOING TO BE DISCHARGED?!"

After his coerced morning nap, his day brightened literally and metaphorically. Blinding sunlight shot through his window, startling him back into consciousness. A perfect day for Shelby's wedding and a perfect day for the sun to try and blind him. He awoke, groggy and not in the best of moods until the door opened, revealing Ada in a light blue blouse, beige skirt, and light blue heels, and Karl in an uncomfortable looking brown suit and checkered cap. Alfie wondered what the special occasion was.

"Well I'll be, if it isn't master Karl Thorne," he said, grinning at the boy. "Back for more bread are you?"

Karl moved slightly behind his mother's skirt, a little shy or maybe a little fearful. Alfie had hoped the swelling on his face had gone down tremendously, but it was still noticeable in the round mirror one of the nurses had tentatively held up in front of him per his request. That had been a rough time for the woman as Alfie, in frustration and rage, had chucked the mirror across the room, roaring to be let out of the infernal hell hole immediately.

But today, he would be on his best behavior.

"Come closer so I can get a better look at you. My eyes aren't too good still, a little swollen, but it's not too bad is it now?" he asked.

Karl shook his head and moved closer to the bedside, showing he had a little courage in him. He had to have some, considering his mother was brave.

"That's better," Alfie said, giving him an appraising look. "I see you're all decked out."

"We can't stay long," Ada interjected. "I just picked him up from school and I wanted to bring him here first. I did make a promise after all," she added, smiling as if they had their own secret.

"That you did," Alfie replied, thinking she looked the prettiest he had seen her since first laying eyes on her outside his shop. Something about the lighting and the soft, almost shy smile on her face made his heart beat at a rather unusual rate. He turned back to Karl who had his hands folded in front of him, a little man already.

"So master Karl, quick now. Tell me one thing you learned today. Teach this old man here something new."

He could see the boy was warming up to him, probably because he observed his mother's interactions and because he remembered the bread. He opened up and told Alfie something about arithmetic or what not that sounded dreadfully dull, but he nodded intently acting profoundly interested. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ada trying not to laugh as her son prattled on, puffing his chest out and looking extremely confident in his new-found knowledge of sums.

When he was finished, Alfie made a deal with him.

"Right now, Karl. I'll make a deal with you, a negotiation of sorts. You keep learning and telling me one new thing when we cross paths, and I'll get you some more of that bread from my bakery."

The boy's eyes lit up at that.

"Oh and listen to your mother," Alfie added, noticing Ada's smile deepen.

The boy nodded and said he would.

"A pleasure doing business with you," Alfie said, extending his hand with the most serious look on his face and shaking the boy's hand. A serious expression crossed Karl's face as he took this deal to heart.

"Karl, why don't you wait in the hall while I say goodbye to Mr. Solomons?"

Karl nodded.

"Bye Mr. Solomons," he said and Alfie quickly told him to call him by his first name.

"Remember our deal now," Alfie said. "I'll hold you to it," he grinned. Karl grinned back, now completely won-over.

Karl slipped past his mother and into the hall. Ada laughed and walked over to the bed.

"You were so good with him," she said.

"He's a good kid," Alfie said, shrugging it off. He didn't have a reputation for being soft-hearted, but he had nothing against kids. He looked up at her, how neat, and bright, and pretty much near perfect she looked and here he was…. Bandaged, and swollen with no word of a discharge date.

"What?" she asked, laughing.

 _Damn it, I was staring again._

"I'm just wondering, why you're all dolled up," he said, squinting against the light.

"My brother's getting married," she said.

Something clicked then in his brain, some lever or gear, or a switch of some kind. Christ he wasn't a mechanic, but a thought occurred to him that hadn't previously crossed his mind.

"Perfect day for it," he said, watching her closely now and wondering if he was losing his mind. Ada sat down on the edge of his bed, looking into his face.

"I wish you could come with me and Karl. It would be the perfect time to introduce you to everyone."

Alfie raised his hand and rubbed his hand across his beard, which honestly was getting out of hand at this point. For obvious reason's he hadn't made an appointment with his barber.

"You need a shave though," she said.

"You're right, I'm not the most presentable now am I?"

"I don't care. You're perfectly alright," she said lightly.

"That didn't sound very complimentary," he replied, filling any potential silences with words as part of his brain tried to see if his new thought had any legitimacy to it. Maybe it was coincidental…. Maybe….

"Fine then, better than alright. You're splendid Alfie Solomons," she said playfully before kissing him on the cheek, just as she had before. She was about to turn away, but he raised his hands, pulled her towards him, and planted a very forceful, but very satisfying kiss on her lips. The only unsatisfying thing about it was that it had to end. She gently placed her hand on his cheek and pulled away.

"I have to go now," she said, breathlessly, her eyes wide and gave the widest beaming smile Alfie had seen from her to date.

"Go go," he said, waving her away. "Don't miss the wedding on my account."

The sheets rustled as she rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt and preening in front of him. Her lipstick was smudging around her lips.

"You might want to attend to that," he said, rubbing his own lips and grinning at her.

"You're ridiculous," she said, wiping her hand across her mouth.

"No, I'm splendid."

"Goodbye Alfie," she said, giving him a look of mock disapproval before walking out of the room, her heels clicking loudly against the floor as she sped away.

"Karl, time to go," she called and Karl answered from far down the hall. The door clicked shut, but not before she gave him one more smile. Alfie waved and listened as her heels clicked away.

He leaned back, resting his head on his pillow and looked up at the sinking ceiling and laughed.

 _She's a Shelby, alright._


	20. A Tentative Reconciliation

John straightened his bowtie in the mirror and studied his reflection. Mixed emotions ran through him. On one hand, he was glad Tommy was happy. On the other hand, he was still furious with his brother about his treatment of Lizzie. But, Tommy had put a stop to the men who had burned his house to the ground and threatened his family. Now, on top of that, John had to be the best man and act as if he was alright after blowing a begging man's brains out. There was no way in hell he was going to resolve all of this before leaving the house for the Carleton mansion.

"You look very handsome." Esme said, cutting into his thoughts as she moved tentatively in the room. John didn't look at her.

He also had to deal with _her_ and her infidelity. He'd tried to find Lizzie leading up to the wedding but she, understandably, was avoiding him and most understandably of all, was avoiding Tommy.

"John?" Esme moved closer to him. John turned around and looked directly at her.

"What do you want, Esme?"

"I've been thinking…"

"Oh you've been thinking. That'd be a first."

"I want to try again," she said.

John looked at her, really looked at her.

 _I don't understand this woman at all._

"I'm sorry I hurt you."

"You did."

"But I care about you and the kids. I love you, all of you."

She moved even closer.

"You have a funny way of showing it," he said straightening his collar.

"I mean it John, and your collar's a mess… here let me.."

John had no choice to let her fix his collar. She thrust her hands forward, invading his space to do it, to fix it.

 _It's going to take more than a fixed collar to fix our marriage._

"That's better isn't it?" she asked, looking deep into his eyes with her piercing dark ones.

"It's alright," he mumbled, shrugging.

There was a pause.

"John, I know you're angry, but I promise, I'll make it up to you. I'll do my part to make this marriage work."

She looked sincere. She sounded sincere. Once again, the thought crossed John's mind that he had no idea what went through this woman's head.

"Can we try?" she asked, her voice pleading and her eyes softening and John saw the woman he had married, smiling shyly at him through her veil. They had been happy up until now and the kids loved her and maybe deep down, a part of him had never stopped loving her.

He sighed.

"Damn it, Esme."

"Is that a yes?" she asked, hope in her eyes. John turned away.

"Ask me after the wedding will you?"

"John.."

"What?" he snapped, turning back to face her. She flung her arms around him, pulling him into a kiss that completely caught him off guard.

"Oy! John, where are you? We're heading out!" Arthur bellowed from downstairs.

John pulled away from Esme.

"After the wedding," he said. "We'll talk."

She nodded vigorously, her face flushed. John turned and saw two pairs of eyes watching him. His heart lurched.

"Lizzie!"

The eyes vanished and he heard racing footsteps down the stairs. Esme put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Let her go, John."

John was about to respond when Arthur started bellowing again and his head started whirling with all the conflicting thoughts and emotions.

"Bloody hell," he muttered before storming out of the room, and down the stairs.

"There you are," Arthur said. "Come on Johnny boy we've…"

"Shut up Arthur," John said through gritted teeth, punching Arthur in the shoulder.

"What?" Arthur asked in confusion, grabbing at his arm. John ignored him and stepped out into the blinding sunlight.

 _After the wedding. After the wedding, I'll sort everything out. God help me._


	21. The Calm

Polly sat in wicker chair, watching her nephew and May Carleton exchange wedding vows. It was a rare sight to see a smile on her nephew's face, but today, it could not be concealed. For once in his life, he was truly happy. Pol considered herself to be a fairly decent judge of character, and she determined that May Carleton was not the worst Tommy could do. In addition, she had money, a stable career, was independent, and seemed to genuinely care for her nephew. She also didn't look too shabby in a white dress that was very slimming. Seeing her made Polly envious, remembering what it was once like to be young and in love on her own wedding day.

She watched as Finn approached the couple, bearing the rings that they slipped carefully onto each other's fingers, and watched him walk over to his brothers. Arthur tousled his hair, like he used to do when Finn was a little scamp. Finn to his credit, resisted scowling at his brother on this special day and stood next to John.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," Ada said in a hushed voice, lowering herself into a seat beside her and motioning for Karl to take the seat next to her.

"It's alright. We'll talk later," Polly mouthed, waving at the boy.

It was a beautiful day on May Carleton's property, with white tents, green grass, small but decorative tables, and expensive caterers and staff of all kinds at the ready to perform their designated tasks. John and Arthur stood by, looking proud that their brother had finally gotten hitched. Michael was there as well and it made Polly proud to see her son with his cousins.

A couple that must have been the bride's parents stood by, not looking entirely pleased, but hiding it for their daughter's sake. The bride and groom took each other's hands and kissed, people applauded, and they all moved on to the food, cake, dancing, and other festivities.

"Don't take all the cakes, Karl," Ada was saying as Karl attempted to make off with half a dozen pastries in a napkin. Polly noticed that Ada wasn't as sharp with him and seemed unusually happy. Something was afoot.

"Ada," she said, drawing Ada aside. "You're glowing."

Ada laughed, her face suffused with happiness, which was highly unusual.

"I met someone," she said to Polly's surprise. "I've known him for a few weeks and Pol, I haven't felt this way about anyone since Freddie."

Her face became absolutely radiant as she spoke about this man and Polly was intrigued. She scanned the crowds of people, trying to pick out Ada's mystery man.

"Is he here? she asked, turning back to Ada as no one caught her eye.

"He's in the hospital," Ada explained "He was attacked in the streets."

"How dreadful. I hope he's alright."

"He's doing much better. Karl and I went to see him before we came, which was why we were running a little late. Karl's already quite fond of him."

"Well what does he do for a living?" He's not another communist is he?"

 _Please God, not another Freddie._

"Actually, you'd approve. He's a baker."

A jolt went through Polly as Ada said that, and a flash-back to that dimly lit medium's room with that bizarre man who claimed he was a baker arose in the front of her eyes.

 _No.. That would be too much of a coincidence._

"What is his name?" she asked slowly.

"Alfie." Ada said, her voice thick with affection. "Alfie Solomons." She began to tell the story of how the two met, but Polly was not listening. She was filled with dread.

 _Alfie Solomons. THE Alfie Solomons. Tommy's arch-nemesis, Alfie Solomons."_

"Pol are you alright? You look like you're going to be sick," Ada said.

Polly forced a weak smile.

"I'm alright. It's this heat."

 _Not today. Not on Tommy's wedding day. He's happy for once. I will not ruin his day._

"Oh, why didn't you say anything? Let's get you under this tent. Ada took her arm and led her to a chair in the shadows. "I'll get you something to drink."

Polly was relieved when she left to procure the beverage. She sank down into a chair.

"What's the matter, Pol?" Finn asked as he slunk by.

"Oh, off with you!" she snapped, waving him away with both her hands. Finn shrugged, used to this exclamation of his aunt's, and Polly turned her thoughts inward.

 _His name's Alfie. Alfie Solomons._

She would rather have Ada with another revolutionary over a rival mobster.

 _A Jewish mobster._

Polly shuddered and almost made the sign of the cross. Another thought occurred to her.

 _Was it all planned?_

What were the odds of her running into Alfie Solomons in a dingy shop and….

 _He was talking about Ada. The woman he was referring to was Ada._

She would have to tell Tommy. She sensed premeditation, manipulation, and cold-blooded calculation.

 _After the wedding. After the wedding. After the wedding._

She repeated it over and over in her mind, a mantra, a chant, a protective spell to ward off evil. Storm clouds were gathering in her mind.

Ada returned with the drink and Polly thanked her, exchanging her genuine happiness for fake conversation. She had to cope somehow now that her peace of mind was shattered. What was worse was that Ada was clearly unaware of the mess she had landed herself and Karl into.

 _A very big mess._

But that was what good old Aunt Pol was for, to clean up everyone else's messes before they got themselves killed. Her work never ceased.


	22. The Storm

It started to rain just as the reception ended. The wind picked up and they found themselves all in a massive downpour.

"Sign of good luck," people said.

The tents collapsed, the chairs were folded, soaking table cloths pulled away. Tommy and May ran off hand and hand, laughing up the walkway until Tommy took her in his arms and carried her over the threshold.

"Being carried into my own house, how romantic," she said.

"Don't be snide Mrs. Shelby."

"Mrs. Shelby, I like the sound of that, Mr. Shelby."

Tommy hung up his hat and lowered her to her feet. They were both soaking wet, but they didn't care. There was a fire in May's eyes and Tommy could feel it in his own heart as they made their way up the stairs and shut out the world around them.

Later that night, Tommy poured two glasses of the finest red wine he could find in May's wine cellar, a vintage red in the far reaches of the cellar from some ancient time.

He thought about that special bottle of wine, cobweb covered and Grace standing on a bar stool. It was only for a moment and he shook the unwanted memory away. Today was a new beginning. He was in love, he was happy, and he was a new man. He lifted both glasses carefully in his hand, full to the brim and was about to head back up the stairs when someone knocked on the door. Tommy stopped in his tracks, and set the glasses back down. His eyes traveled to the clock on the wall. One minute past midnight, one minute past witching hour. He waited for another knock, but there was only silence. He was about to grab the glasses again and return to May when the knocking began again, louder this time and with a shorter frequency, like a woodpecker drilling into a tree. Tommy left the glasses on the table and cautiously approached the door. He unlocked it partially, not removing the chain as he cracked it open. Who he saw on the other side stunned him to his core.

There in the pouring rain, head bare and wearing the dowdiest of clothing was none other than Grace.

"I'm in trouble Tommy," she whispered, looking him directly in the eyes.

Tommy unlatched the chain and opened the door.

"Grace… why are you here?"

Had she lost the baby? He looked her up and down then realized there was no point. She hadn't been showing at the races and not much time had passed since then.

"I'm in trouble," she repeated, stepping over the threshold.

"You can't be here. Grace, I'm married," he said as she stepped further into the hall. He knew it was a delayed response, that he shouldn't have let her in first.

"I have nowhere else to go," she answered, acting as if she hadn't heard him speak. Tommy closed the door.

"Where's your husband?

"He's dead ,Tommy." Her voice broke completely and she began to weep. Tommy stared at her.

"What do you mean he's dead?" For some reason, he was having trouble wrapping his brain around the death of the American banker.

"They killed him."

"Who?

"They killed him and I have nowhere else to go." Her shoulders shook, she bowed her head, and she put her head in her hands.

"Grace, who killed your husband?"

 _And why?_

"It's all because of me. He didn't do a thing, but they were after me." He couldn't get a straight answer out of her and he realized she had just contradicted herself. Did she know or did she not know who had killed her husband? He walked over to a cabinet and poured her a glass of strong bourbon. She shook her head, but he pushed it into her hands, steered her to one of the divans, and made her sit and drink. When she looked as if she'd collected herself, he began to say,

"Grace, you can't…."

She looked up at him helplessly with her piercing blue eyes and he stopped speaking for a moment.

"I'm married, Grace," he said as gently as he could. "You can't stay here."

Fire flashed in Grace's eyes and she stiffened in the chair, her eyes accusatory.

"You're going to abandon me in my condition.."

"No, no," Tommy said, trying to placate her. "Nothing like that, all I'm saying is…"

"I'm in danger Tommy," she said, cutting him off. Someone is after me and I don't know who it is."

Tommy did not like the sound of that at all. Grace had a past with the government. She was a spy. God only knew who she'd crossed and what secrets she had exposed to warrant someone going after her American husband and scaring her to death.

"Grace."

"Please Tommy!" She clasped her hands together, her voice rising in what sounded like panic. "Think of the baby! Think of our baby!"

"Thomas?"

Tommy whipped his head around to see May standing on the staircase in her robe, white faced, eyes wide as if she had seen a ghost. Her hands were white as they gripped the railing. Grace rose to her feet, her mouth opened partially, but no sound came out. Tommy looked from her to May, then back to Grace, trying to think of a response. The three of them stood there, silent, as if they were waiting for something.

Thunder boomed, seemingly directly over their heads. Tommy raised his eyes up to the ceiling as the wind began to howl.

 _There's the storm._


	23. An Ending (Of Sorts)

"What are you doing in Tommy's office?"

Michael straightened his back, grinning furtively at Isaiah who had seen the light on in Tommy's office. Tommy was most definitely not at home tonight.

"Tommy hides the best whiskey in one of these drawers," he said, his voice trailing off as he jiggled the keys in the drawer and pulled out a brand new bottle of whiskey.

Isaiah laughed. "Alright, well it's your head," he said, shaking his own head as he closed the door and walked away.

Michael glanced over the desk and waited until Isaiah's footsteps had receded far down the hall. When he was sure he was gone, he pulled Tommy's chair out from the desk, sat down, and leaned back in it, pouring himself a glass. He took a sip, another sip, and then set the glass on a coaster on the edge of the desk. He looked up at the ceiling, thinking. It wasn't a lie. Tommy did have the best whiskey in his office. Tommy Shelby had the best of everything.

 _For now._

Michael raised his hands and rested them behind his head. It had all worked out quite nicely. Hiring a nobody, a struggling actor to play Tommy's new archnemesis.

 _Poor Dobson didn't have a chance._

Michael hadn't told the man that of course. Churchill, was nothing but a character all along, and Dobson had played him very well, until the net started closing in and he realized what an idiot he was for buying into the plan. But the man was desperate for money, consumptive wife and snot-nosed brats and all. Tragic story, but not Michael's problem.

 _"Consider it as an action picture and you're the villain. At the end, you'll get your cut."_

Fortunately, in the end, Tommy had played his part to perfection and eliminated the need for Michael to pay the man his cut at all. Dead body in the canal. Problem solved. Truth be told he was running low on funds he had scrimped and saved for back home, and he didn't want to siphon any more of the company's money than he already had. No one was watching the books that closely anyway, but Pol was sharp when she wasn't in one of her moods or drinking. He shuddered at the thought of being biologically related to such a temperamental, psychotic, and pathetic woman. The lengths she'd gone to free him from Campbell were humiliating.

The fire would have been a tricky situation if not for Esme.

 _You have quite the past Ms. Lee. Scandalous. Does John know?_

He'd placed files on the table, that had been the hardest part, finding the information to incentivize Esme.

Blackmail. Intimidation. It was all part of that day's work. Esme provided him with information about the family's daily routines, locations throughout the day etc, etc. In return, he had promised that none of the children, nor John himself would be involved, unless she didn't uphold her end of the bargain.

 _You're going to apologize at the wedding. You're going to get back into your husband's good graces and give me the information I need._

Michael's thoughts traveled back Dobson and his transformation into Churchill. Dobson was an idiot, had gotten cold feet in the end, had purchased a train ticket in advance, and signed his own death warrant. Churchill, however, was perfect. Tommy always needed an enemy, an opposing force, someone to win against, a legitimate threat to his family, before he came out victorious. That's what Tommy Shelby lived on: conflict and resolution. And Michael give it all to him in a neatly wrapped parcel. Michael had even hired an actual Scott with bones to pick with the Shelby family. He'd convinced Kincaid to take down Alfie Solomons to make Churchill out to be a legitimate threat who was sending Tommy a message. Then, predictably, Tommy and Solomons joined forces, leading to the inevitable deaths of Kincaid and Churchill.

 _It's only the beginning._

He deserved every penny of the family's money. He hadn't gotten his cut and had spent years living like a hermit with good people while these thugs rolled in money. Now, Tommy was climbing the ladder with the rich broad, distracted. Everyone was distracted. A few more moves and he would have complete control of the company's finances. He would decimate the Peaky Blinders, collect his dues, and buy a resort, maybe on an island in the tropics with lots of sunshine, that rivaled even today's unusually sunny day.

"Cheers," he said, raising his glass to the ceiling.

Thank you everyone for your positive feedback and support! I hope you all enjoyed this story. I certainly enjoyed writing and sharing it with you all. This is by no means the end of this Peaky Blinders fic and a sequel is already in the works. Thanks again!


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